Joined: Thu Oct 15, 2009 10:26 am
Posts: 21
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As the drop to Winter steepens
And shadows lengthen at midday
So unspoken terror deepens
Suffocates in shades of grey
The declining year does metaphor
For the fast approaching end of life
He stares out blankly and remembers
The happy decades with his wife
Never one to think of heaven
He knows this life is all there is
Now at the age of sixty-seven
It’s almost done – he has had his
But come the Spring the sap will rise
The will to live comes with the sun
The sweet companion of blue skies -
He knows his course is not yet run
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