One leaves us by his own hand.
One that loved wisely but too well.
To sleep, when peaceful dreams may come.
May. If so, he knows. For us,
there’s tomorrow, and hopefully tomorrow, and tomorrow.
A day full of my stupid errors.
Wrong turns, forgotten items, an appointment missed.
Senior moments tick tocking into minutes, hours.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?
No comedy, no humor, no happy ending.