It’s nearly fifty years
Since I wed my one true love;
She’s been dead for three.
The world has gone to hell again
Or never left. Hundreds killed last week;
An end nowhere in sight.
And age lies heavy on me.
But I laughed just now
At the stink my cat has made
In the pan outside my office door.
(She has no sense of how to cover it.)
And I’ll no doubt smile
An hour hence
When I step out to view the moon.
Warm fur by me on the bed;
And eventually dreams will come,
Mostly good, I think.
©2016 John I. Blair