When you drag rough thoughts from your mind,
they will appear on paper, line by line.
Are they good or a plain, simple rendition?
Will the words last or leave by attrition?
I no longer know the words for me,
for my heart lies broken, as it must be.
How can I enjoy this messed up life,
when I see the damage done to my wife?

I have a new child.
Not new to me,
but a child, now,
who is eighty three.
She no longer can do,
those basic tasks
nor make decisions.
She cannot tell you,
what any trouble she has,
for she knows not the name,
of any item she sees.
What kind of World must it be?
How do I take my lifelong friend,
who trusts me and move her to
a memory care unit.
It will destroy her. I know it
and yet , it is something I must do,
if I truly mean, "I love you."
My heart if broken,
it may not mend.
Is our life life now over?
Have we neared the end?
I hope not. I must employ
some good things for her to enjoy.

Tell me a story.
Tell me my friend,
I have an interest
and two ears to lend.
Tell stories of real life.
Let us not do, "Let's Pretend."

I wouldn't call her beautiful,
although some people do.
I would say she's lovely,
but not as lovely as you.
It is her heart; her caring way,
as she took care of you,
in her most loving way.

She wore lovely shoes,
on those beautiful feet.
They kept her toes warm
and dry; a great treat,
for when it rained here,
as it is want to do,
her paws remained dry;
this companion to you.

A ray of light, slices across the sky,
circling the Earth, as it passes by
where we live. I see and am wondering why
the Blue Ray from space, makes another try.

I search my mind.
I scratch and scribe,
upon the paper,
using my old hand,
as I pull forth,
some words, from out
the brackish water, mine.
I wish you well,
for now's the day,
to change your life,
while you are still
the wife I know,
who lives in this house,
morning, noon and night.
Stay close to me
for the care givers life,
is never over or done.

For want of love,
a life was lost.
For lack of love,
what is the cost?
Would you love someone
who is completely lost,
or flee the scene,
no matter the cost.

The wind, on this warm summer day,
chases green leaves, much too soon.
Excessive heat, burns plants and crops,
ruining fruit and plants alike.
Wind builds the heat, dries the grass,
creating another season; a furnace blast.

Do you remember
the hoot of an Owl?
Or the sound of breaking glass
when wrapped in a towel?
Unlike the Owl,
who calls out my name
of all the new pain
of losing your memories,
all over; once again.
The caw of the Crow
when it's time for a feed,
is all they want and need.
A songbird now sings
in a tree, over there,
a pleasant sound in the Summer air.