Entrances all locked and fast
Bolts checked around the back
Windows secured to the last
Holding, at bay, attack
Family safely stowed abed
Enjoying well-earned sleep
Though heavy hangs the weary head
The watch still his to keep
Guttering lamp gives meagre light
Cold gnaws and gathers round
Corner shadows hold close the night
Time passing without a sound
A few more rounds; he might then rest
Wolf kept safely from the door
Dawn’s rays reveal its sad bequest
His burden he’ll carry no more
One day I will be gone.
That is not a day I fear,
nor one I want others to feel sorrow or regret.
If, on that day, you think of me, do not regard the how or why;
but note, if you will, the when
Remember, if you can, any smiles and laughter,
not frowns and sadness
Mark any things done passing well;
not the failures
Those were my burden, one I no longer bear
Do not pick up any part of that; let it die with me.
Knowing you, in some measure,
you will have been a part of my life, and I am grateful for that.
Loving you, know that you made my life all the better to live,
and I love you the more for it, for all eternity
Go forward, then, positively;
live your own life as well as you can
Be happy and try to share that with others.
Joyfully, toward home
Deliberately, away from here
Boldly, into the unknown
Jauntily, finding a rhythm
Silently, measuring the air
Quickly, gaining pace
Sagely, holding your counsel
Intentionally, keeping guard
Knowingly, watching the path
Safely, reaching your destination
I’ve reached that point, where all that matters
Is a warm and sunny day
Too often does cold, take bitter hold
And gnaw at my bones like decay
When the sun shines, there is some release
From the prison that is my home
I then struggle out, without a clout
With freedom, at last, to roam
On winter days, so short and cold
The four walls close in as a vice
Listening aghast, to the weather forecast
Promising snow and ice
Bed is sanctuary, where shivers subside
Though my nose asks for cover too
Like Oates to Scott, I know I’m facing my lot
When I briefly pop out to the loo
If this land goes to hell, in the proverbial handcart
For the young, I’d feel sorrow in large measure
It isn’t all sad; there’ll be one thing not bad
The heat I’ll enjoy with great pleasure
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