The dormant grass, so ugly and brown,
Started it's greening, as rain falls down.
While the picture, of grass being dead,
Runs through, my old and weary head.
I should know better, not to fear,
That Natures power, the greening is near.
I must plant, new bulbs in September,
For Spring's bright display and to remember,
Colors that will, erupt from the bed
Of our yard, that looks very dead.

I walk at night.
I walk alone,
On my way,
without my phone.
There is no distraction.
No music to hear,
As I face my worries,
While acknowledging my fear.

A fear of failure now,
As your slow decline
Of memory loss,
Increases the damage.
Increases the cost
Of caring for you.
In a manner of good
For you my sweet one,
It must be understood,
For you can't help yourself,
On this Summer Day.
When you talk to me,
Upon rising and you say,
"What do I do next?"

So there I was,
talking out loud,
it was because,
I was in a crowd.
A crowd? Wait one,
I must admit,
the quiet has been nice,
but not at the
cost of the life
of others, of who I read.
No longer with us,
so many are dead.
Say what you will.
Do what is right.
How in the World,
do you sleep at night?

He stays hidden, in the plants.
I will find him waiting there
with his patience; he has plenty.
He waits there, he won't roam,
for he is a most faithful
the silent garden gnome