All the
grand old ladies
From the
Tall Clipper ship era;
Survivors of
the "Great quake",
Dead before my Buick Rivera.
All my
favorite teachers,
Were dead
when I became one.
It seems the
decades pass
Between one
moon and the next sun.
All my favorite
singers,
Have long
since lost their voices.
Some victims
of planes, drugs, or old age…
It seems
none had any choices.
All of the
politicians,
I first voted for
are dead.
Just like
the dreams they promised,
Are no
longer in my head.
All my
newest friends,
I met when
middle aged,
Are dead or
dying now.
Time did not
retreat, but raged.
All my last
surviving friends,
Now
fearfully shy away,
It seems
since we’re all dying,
We should
have so much to say.
All my
thoughts are fading,
My mind’s
foggy, in a daze.
Why can’t we
discuss our feelings?
Celebrate our
December days?
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