the crow calls
his mournful dirge
once twice thrice

early this morning
when the sky is  still
grey twilight
and his song of sadness
seeps in past the window frame,
to alight in my heart


today, you
would have been
fifty five...
and there was to be
a massive party
fifty five a glorious age
you said you were going
to retire.... see the world
but i could not see that
you who loved her job so....

but all of that,
immaterial now.
it is just past six months
since you died...
lung cancer...
metatasized to the brain
****** filthy cigarettes

i will raise a glass to you
my friend.....
probably more than one
some in joy and some in tears....

and the crow calls
again and again.....