8 January 2017


Another one seems to be going now, so sadly, although he is 93
His real being disintegrating each day before us, is dreadful to see
A grey shadow, turning black, creeping over a once bright mind
A stumbling, emerging, confused, incoherence, as consciousness turns blind

Light ebbing from a darkening evening sea
And so who next?
Maybe her, him, you, me