Accumulations of years
of trials, tears
and disaster
and, yes,
luck, love and laughter
weigh heavy
on the olderly
while the well worn recliner,
often rehearsal prop for a coffin,
brings on quickly
slowly, drowsy, closing eyes,
deep sonorous breaths,
final run-through
of the prelude
to a long, deep sleep to come,
even coming,
even now,
steady,
in,
out,
in,
out
then silence
on the back porch
’till calls the sounding
trumpets.
s
Poems by Ken 