La ville de lumière porte une couverture de blanc
Comme les flocons de neige et l'obscurité, en tandem, descendre.
Je marche dans ses rues, seule, avec juste votre mémoire en tant que compagnie
La vieille librairie que nous avons aimé faire des emplettes
A fait sa dernière vente et fermé pour de bon.
Notre restaurant préféré est toujours là, ouvert pour les affaires,
Mais de nouvelles personnes l'ont maintenant.
Elle aussi est changée.
Dans les temps plus heureux, nous nous sommes assis à cette table extérieure
Et regardé, ensemble, les nuances subtiles de la lumière
Réfracté sur les eaux de la Seine.

Dans votre entreprise, une simple croûte de pain
Et une bouteille, ou deux, de calvados semblait un festin.
En votre absence, les meilleurs aliments sont, pour moi, la paille et la paille.

Années de vie dans votre amour
Ne m'a pas préparé
Pour cette vie seule
Je regarde les flocons de neige tomber, vers le bas.
À travers le froid sombre de cette soirée parisienne
Et les envie de leur résolution que je ne peux pas encore partager.

The City of Light wears a blanket of white
As snowflakes and darkness, in tandem, descend.
I walk her streets, alone, with just your memory as company
The old bookstore that we loved to shop
Has made its last sale and closed for good.
Our favorite restaurant is still here, open for business,
but new people have it now.
It, too, is changed.
In happier times we sat at that outside table
And watched, together, the subtle shades of light
refracted on the waters of the Seine.

In your company a simple crust of bread
And a bottle, or two, of calvados seemed a feast.
In your absence the finest foods are, to me, chaff and straw.

Years of living in your love
has not prepared me
For this life alone
I watch the snowflakes falling down, down.
through the cold dark of this Parisian evening
and envy them their resolution that I cannot yet share.

She was not born to be a bride,
She had no child of her own.
When she faced evil face to face,
some will say she died alone.
But to the children whom she helped hide
when terror roamed those halls.
She didn't die for nothing
She died to save them all.

Some learn their purpose early,
Others at the final turn.
Many blunder blind through life.
There are those who never learn.

Someday past suffering and grief
may her family feel some pride.
She was Victoria Soto,
a Heroine, she died.

Like those daughters of Zeus of old,
Three graces now I see before me.
I’ll call you Beauty, Joy and Mirth;
It’s my good fortune to behold thee.

The oldest has a beauty rare;
She is pale white with raven tresses.
Like her sisters, she’s clad in lace
and those are some exquisite dresses.

The middle sister loves to sing;
Like a songbird she can warble.
A lovely smile, warm to the touch,
Like nothing ever done in marble.

The youngest has a cheerful mien;
witty bright and full of laughter.
The pity is I’m old; they’re young-
My money must be what they’re after!

There's this dance they do in Washington
whenever Debt's head rears..
It's called the "Fiscal Chicken"
They've performed it now for years.
With a Jiggle to the Right
and a wobble to the left
They kick the can on down the road
I can't say that I'm impressed.
The rotund in the Rotunda
Scream and shout and hop about.
Some claim that they will hold the line
deceiving the devout.
Don't let their moves distract you-
We all know whose Ox gets gored-
As Mister Ryan postures
and as the Donald roars.
If we manage somehow to save
they want it in their paws.
Like inebriated White men
They flail and shake their rears
The only moves they have result
from drinking too much beer..

His eyes are glazed with cataracts; these days he seldom speaks.
He’d choke if not for thickeners his nurse puts in his drinks.
The Amyloid has run amok, like weeds that spread and climb,
His intellect is overthrown; He’s trapped within his mind.

Alzheimer’s started subtly. He’d forget a place or name.
He’d wander through his rooms at home, uncertain why he came.
His wits became befuddled; he gave up his keys to drive.
He’d wander off without his coat; it’s a wonder he’s alive.

His world grew gradually smaller, snared in a web of fear.
Frustrated by his loss of self, he’d shed many wordless tears.
Now he is in hospice and he hasn’t got much time.
His body, too, is failing him. He’s already lost his mind.

Old memories are stirred in him, treasures he can’t speak.
He imagines himself young and strong; not old senile and weak.
His lips curl in a toothless smile and I can only pray
That in his tangled mind he’s found the door to yesterday.

There is a spot
atop a hill
beneath an old shade tree.
It is the place my parents rest
and thus is dear to me.

It is a pleasant spot they chose,
now blanketed in snow.
I place my wreath and give a thought
to a Christmas long ago.

That Christmas Eve my father brought
a tree that filled the room.
My brother worked to fix the lights.
The girls sang Christmas tunes.

Atop the tree an ornament
A star that shone like gold.
Reminder of the miracle
of Christmas long ago.

The house is gone
and they have gone
Their youngest has grown old.
Still I recall my sisters voices
and that star that shone like gold.