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.

Wind with rain
New plantings knocked down
Wet ground.

The days draw short
Years move along
Quite rapidly.
Much like a song,
A very sad song
Of life's short time.
Memories that fade
And are gone, sublime
Is the mood,
That I see.
Please dear God,
Please help me.

Are you real?
Can you see
That my love,
Will always be
Meant for you
But not for me,
or my life
Of uncertainty.