Ah yes there’s the rub; life’s small transitions

A birth to youth, youth to age, age to death

Much too quickly my brothers and sisters

Have passed through their veil of reality

And now join the orchestra of rapture

Too quickly I follow their lanterns glow

Sing to me a song, my Angels of grief

I can’t remember my life from before

Carefree and chasing the forever more


My wife and I have always been, for lack of a better word, loners. We have children, grandchildren, brothers and sisters that we dearly love. But we have always been nomads and spent our entire lives enjoying the company of each other. We are the best of friends. I wrote this poem quite awhile ago after watching a family member suffer from dementia. For my wife and I, our greatest fear would be to lose our memories of each other.


Please old man you must let me be relieved

Let me go where I will not be abused

Old man you know it’s me they have deceived

My mind is silent waiting to be used

My memories, they are fading faster

It is my sadness that has been released

Old man you know that you are my master

Oh please…why won’t you let me find some peace?

So I will go to join their procession

But first there is someone that I must seek

She is standing, in love, right beside me

But our fingertips just don’t seem to meet

Her hair burns bright with the color of fire

She is standing in the night beside me

Is it my mottled mind, am I dreaming

Or is it that I just need to believe


Red, orange, yellow, purple, blue and green;

The colors flow smoothly from her fingers

A rainbow of yarn like I’ve never seen

So absorbed in her I stop and linger


With every twist of her agile wrist

I watch intently as the afghan grows

Without looking, she creates every stitch

Then carefully crochets them into rows


The weight of it on her is comforting

Its warmth blocks out the chilly winter air

Still I can’t keep myself from wondering

Will it soon be too much for her to bear?