Early November







The hours, the days go drifting by

like clouds that float unseen.

My life is wasting, nought can show

that I am, or have been.

Doors are closing, lights are dimmed

as curtains shroud the night.

For others there is life within

I can’t share their delight.

My name is a dim memory

to people I have known.

My face lies unremembered

on old photographs unshown.

There is no purpose to my life

there’s little I have done.

Nothing significant achieved,

no-one to grieve I’m gone

Sadness, despair and grief I bring

to those who’s lives I touch.

But dear heart, please remember

I love you, oh so much.

.. oOo ..


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