A gathering is what
we say and do,
when celebrating a birthday
for me and for you.

If I had known
I'd been in this house
This long,
I wouldn't have
Planted the Lace Leaf Maple,
So close to the front door.
I should have removed
For transplanting, many years before.

Where will I be without you?
What will my life be
if you aren't with me?
Grief ridden thoughts abound
in this aged head of mine.
Quit feeling sorry for yourself.
Please stop with the whine.
You must be stronger;
don't let her see
the sadness in your eyes.
She said before
she doesn't like to cry,
so I must be careful
and hide the wetness in my eyes.
Be brave, strong and stoic,
that is best for me.
Keep your tears well hidden,
please don't let her see,
the weakness in me.

I want to write about a glorious thing,
upcoming soon, a wonderful Spring,
when Daffodils, Hyacinths and Tulips.
All leap up, from the garden ground;
song birds will provide a tuneful sound.

It was back in the day,
many years ago,
in a place called Riverton Heights.
The Seattle Times held a contest
at local schools.
I attended Showalter then,
atop the hill above Foster.
The contest was called
"Old Woody".
Old woody was a frame of wood,
in the shape of a Baseball strike zone,
in the center. A distance was set.
Each contestant would go to the mound
and throw balls. The rule was
to throw strikes until such time
that you threw 4 balls.
The winner was determined by the
one with the total number of three
strike outs.
Surprise it was to me,
when I beat all the others
and won the contest.
The Seattle Times took my picture
and was in the sport pages the next day.
So my claim to fame at a very young age.
Many years have passed
since that time in my life.
It was my first competition in baseball.

Sometimes a sound
in the darkest of night,
will raise the hairs
on the back of my neck.
A noise that I hear,
can bring me a fright,
If I am alone
and it's after twilight

Why do I feel alone at night,
when she lies so close to me?
It's because she doesn't know my name
and that is our fate and destiny.

When I have a vision;
memories from the past,
seldom do they last
but on occasion, some thoughts
will stick, in my brain
and then I remember
being there, once again.

I am losing touch with reality
on this darkening, rainy day.
I'm unsure of this pending finality
and if she will go or stay.

She tells me, "take me to the home,
for that is where I'll be,
the rest of this mortal life;
I'll soon be leaving thee".

A creative soul?
I think not.
Writing helps me
untie this knot
of my anxiety,
hidden in my mind.
The worry for another;
a caregiver you are,
for your love to do
the best you can
for she is alone
and now so are you.