Sunday, July 30, 2017
“Lori,” I said, “Don’t move!
I’m still worshiping your face.”
She passed almost 20 years ago,
No one since could take her place.
The “Snow Fire” was my favorite rose,
Until it succumbed to a disease…
First the blossoms withered,
Then eventually the leaves.
Then there were the special dogs,
My companions and best friends…
Who one by one grew old and died,
The cycle never ends.
Everyday I’ve gathered thoughts,
Those memories like favorite books.
A person can’t own anything,
Including their good looks.