Dociwallips, is a very nice place,
We would visit every year, on the first of May.
Staying at the campgrounds or in Brinnon.
Party at night, the next day Oysters and Clams.
Gather the Oysters, shuck and leave the shells, please.
Go down in the morning, to get a limit
Of Oysters and then look for Gooey Duck.
If you got one, proud you would be.
Once time I saw the right "sign"
And then with a planned design,
I started to dig, as casual as I could,
For I didn't want the "Duck" think he should,
Dig deeper, or pull in its neck.
As I dug closer, down on my knees,
I grabbed the shell, if you please.
Holding and wiggling, my grip kind of thin,
When I realized that the tide was coming in.
I grasped tighter and then came a fear,
The water was now up to my ear.
I wriggled some more, my wife said, "Let go".
And I told her that, I won't. NO!
Finally the big clam broke free.
I could now say, look at me.

I came close to leaving, on this day.
Just grab my bag and run far away.
Thinking hard, I then heard my voice,
"It is unfair to her as she has no choice."
Sobering words that I needed this day.

I stand by the water
Watching.
I hear the lapping waves
Splashing.
The smell of the Sea,
Enticing.
What you do to me,
Exciting.
I gaze into your eyes,
Bewildered.
The reflection, I see,
Adoration.
My arms encircle you,
Comfort.
It's almost time to go,
Anxious.
I've lost you my love,
Sadness.
I'll pray for your soul,
Weeping.

I remember you, from many years before.
You were so beautiful and I did adore,
That look that you had,
The sounds that you made,
As we rode all the byways and more.
The sleek running chassis, I saw before,
With a smooth shifting, four on the floor.
Your engine, a V-8, a 283,
That always had enough power for me.
Dual pipes, with "Smitty's", making the sound,
That would send out echo's all over town.
Driving down the street, every night, alas
The pipes echo's would rattle the glass
Of the storefronts, there were quite a few,
As we circled again, down the Avenue.

I must write of what I feel,
Else this life may get more surreal.
I have noted that late at night,
A wandering about, without delight,
Searching for answers of a question or so,
When I realize there is more to know.
Thought processes, that once were keen,
Are missing the connection, in between.
She knows that something is wrong,
But can't reason of where it will belong.
It frightens me, in a caring way.
I pray that the morrow, is a better day,
For her.

I hear a voice, saying to me,
"you must return, across the Sea"
To that place that knows you well,
So hot and humid, it felt like hell.
Why must I go? Don't you see,
It will be meeting with my destiny.

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.