One more year, the Day of the Dead
Gone the woman who shared my bed
Drifted away in November mist
Gone the woman at night I kissed
Grandma Angel fast became
Spirit with wings and heavenly fame
Walking along a gold-trimmed street
Never again with dusty feet
Brushing the dust away back then
She left on Earth a family of ten
So now we sit by the window and stare
Wondering what she’s doing up there
At night when lovers copulate they unrewarded see how fruitless is their lonely search for pleasure’s misery …
I learned a poetry lesson from a 14-year-old girl while she was in high school. Today she’s not in my life anymore,…
Easter was always one of two major annual family celebrations in our household when Diane, mother of my three daughters, was alive.…
At 83, I can still think and walk. What a wonder! Two or three generations ago people died in their 50s and…