Oh Vanity, thou have a name.
It has been said by others,
to those who appear vane.
" There is no conceit in your family,
as you have it all."

A frog, a fox
and a ring-tailed shrew,
were very bored,
having nothing to do
Until they encountered the
notorious fellow, Mr. Fitch.
He was a mean one, was he.
Often referred to as a son of,
ask him no questions,
he'll tell you no lies,
he is that type of a guy.

Here I am, in the
memory care facility,
as I observe a resident,
Audrey, the wanderer.
She is small in stature
and patrols the hallways
of the facility. She seldom
sits at a table during dining hours,
but will wander around, tables
up to the counter and ask for food.
She is very quiet and has a quaint
accent which may be Irish or
Scottish.

Watchful the wind,
sailing through the Firs,
shaking branches as
needles fall, covering
the ground. A sound
of Fir cones striking
the deck with a
rat a tat tat,
a staccato, rings in my ears
as I try to sleep
in the warmth of our
bed, alone.

I lay with my head
on the pillow.
You are asleep.
I'm amazed by the
clarity of your skin,
sans wrinkles, which
is remarkable at this
late time of life.

I want to not say
to you, on this cold, dregs of Winter,
loving the fact, you are alive.
Missing most of your reasoning,
still, I sit with you.
You call me, "Your husband", but I know
you no longer know my name,
but is the love, you profess to me.

We come from clay.
We come from dirt,
but not from rock,
so we can be hurt.
A loss of love,
a painful path,
a loss of faith,
may incur God's wrath.
Praying to you every night,
some say you are just.
From my experience,
I no longer have trust.

Echo's surround
this place I know,
across the canyon
and it's rock wall.
Say your name,
loud and well.
Speak, do not yell.

I watch you slowly lose control,
drifting into an Alzheimers reality.
You are my love and my light.
To see you losing the battle
with this dread disease, is emotional.
I wish for an end to your pain
and suffering, but continue to worry
about losing you, from my life.

You have a poor attitude
When you dispense platitudes
Which are lame and insecure.
Suck it up, birdman. Go away.

A life cut short,
A life forlorn.
Wonder nought,
Why you've were born.
Fate is with you,
Your whole life thru.
How you live your life,
Depends upon you.
Take life's offerings
In a small sized bite
And luck will be
With you, day and night.

Of all the days
Which may lay ahead,
The day I leave
Is the day I'll dread.