Each
day is a waiting for death and a dying,
A
rising, a pratfall, a tantrum, a sighing,In moments the stretched empty hours have passed by,
And night has descended with foul words and crying.
Oh
where is that youth with his life chances nighing,
In
rich clothes and posings to catch the girls’ eyeing;The footings and glancings all sped on the fly
Till lovers were honeymooned, laughing and thighing.
Midlife
was a quagmire of cold-shouldered lying,
The
children resentful and sneeringly prying,Redundant, remortgaged, the weight of the sky
Crushed love, hope and kindness until I stopped trying.
So,
old-aged and solus, my sands are fast drying
In
Chastened-by-Sea where the salt mist is hieing,And death with sunk life at my carcass will vie
That day when my wait is cut short with a dying.
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©
July 2015