He sits there, with all the dread,
Wandering around, his cluttered head,
He would do best, to move again,
Far away from, these thoughts of pain.
I can no longer, speak for him,
For the thoughts he has, are grim.

Blow hard, the Wind. Blow hard tonight.
Clean up the air, use all your might,
For the pollutants and emissions must
Be reduced for all, not for just
Those who we see every day,
But the World citizens, who must stay
In squalid hovels, at the border of the USA.

When the evening light, turns to black,
It's the time for a memory lapse.
Not recalling names of long lost friends,
Or remembering places we went to, often.
The sense of loss of her mind, I feel
Afraid for her, in this life surreal.
"Weep not for me", she's said before,
As we trudge towards that fateful door.
The cruelty of this disease, to me
Astounds my view of the lost memory.

I heard the sound of shrill agony
When a young Crow, fell from a tree.
A young Crow, when on the ground,
Will perish soon, as predators abound.
Give it water to make it strong
And before you know, it is gone.