Magazine Posts

Dementia, a disease, that is most unkind,
While it attacks our loved ones mind.
A very slow process, coming in stages,
Of forgetfulness and sometimes rages.
To see your loved one, fading away
And know that she won't recall today,
Can be painful for you and me,
As you see all of the uncertainty
That they deal with every, single day.
That sinking feeling, that never goes away.
A sudden illness; we ask God why,
This hideous disease of the long goodbye.

I go to the garden
to seek for thee.
I search all around
and then I do see,
the most favored of spots
where you and I agree
to pledge of our love
for an eternity.

When the Sun falls upon your face
and I am there to caress,
It is the most pleasant of times
for me, to find my happiness.

There's no day like tomorrow
for it may never come,
if the worries of today,
causes us to succumb.

The wind in the Willows,
The shimmering breeze,
Branches, rubbing together
In the largest of trees.
Needles falling to ground
Covering the old debris,
Of twigs and small branches
And the wet, fallen leaves.

The Moonlight reflects off the lake,
on this early, misty morn.
There are few sounds, to partake
from the cottages, that adorn.
My love for you, that you forsake,
from my heart, so forlorn,
caused this heart of mine to ache,
and from my chest was torn.
I now must return to the lake,
near where I was born.

The wonders of the Winter storm
has passed this way again.
The plants, are all settled down
with mulch upon their head,
as their hearty bulbs are resting,
in the beds of loam,
awaiting heat, from a warming Sun.
This cycle of a plant's life
will repeat, once again, ad infinitum.

I feel the rain, my teeth a chatter
as the wind creates, such a splatter.
Wearing a Gore-Tex coat, I must brag
until the rain runs down my leg.
My body's dry, as is my head,
but the pants are soaked, so back to bed.

We were strangers, when we first met.
We are becoming strangers now and yet
a lifetime of memories, that were made,
are mostly gone and can't be replayed.
Such a loss for you and I,
but try we must, not to cry.

When I plead my troth, dearest wife,
it was to you and for life.
Worry not, I do say to thee,
this place in life is where I'll be.
I love you so, my darling one,
your are my World, Moon and Sun.

The blazing red of the fire bright,
brings us a comfort and delight.
The flickering of flames, the silent night
are shadows I see, within this light.

When I was young, back in the day,
we lived in Seattle, out Riverton Heights way.
My Dad owned a business, after the war,
that was WW II, if you remember that far.
During the Spring, it was more merry;
I followed the creek to the Golden Arrow Dairy,
fishing the creek, which turned into a ditch,
provided great fun and relieved that youthful itch
of fishing and catching, with nary a mentor,
on this piece of land, now called South Center.