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Beneath, the bluest of skies,
I pause to listen
And wonder why,
The World, was made to be,
Only as reflective,
As I might be.
In these days of
Passing time,
I would be inclined,
To drink from cups,
In slurping gulps,
A lot of wine.
I ask the question
Or may imply,
That life goes on,
Though you may die
And no one will wonder,
When time does pass,
That you end up flat,
Behind that, which must be,
From here until senility.

The Crow, came to visit me,
Just the other day.
I know, because the cawing,
Distracted me away,
From the flowers I was planting.

I told the noisy Crow,
"I hear you"
But please, do go away,
As all of my work, needs
Not to be, lead astray,
When I plant the seeds
For flowers, that will
Be blooming, in the Spring.
The Crow, still sat,
Amongst the Hemlock tree,
Watching me as I plant,
The seeds of flowers, yet to be.

I feel alone, yet you are here,
Sitting next to me, so elegantly.
Our conversations, are minimal,
No words come, from you to me.
Logical discussions, do not occur,
As listening is not your forte.
When an idea, gets into your head
And I explain, or try to say,
The way things should be.
You keep bringing up the same
Subject, over again, with no finality.
Why must Dementia
Steal you away from me?
You are a happy person
And yet, it must painfully be
A frustration to you, as
Much as it is to me.
I love you and anguish so
To see you slip away
From our life long loves.
I beg of you, my God,
Oh please let her stay,
If not for tomorrow,
At least for today.

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