Oooo, oooo, the wind has a sudden voice
Ice crystals like trinkets hanging in the trees ******
As the stiff wind blows and mourns, we mourn

Banks of snow are built, torn down, rebuilt
The howl is haunting as it cries in distress, and we cry
New snow atop hard-pack crunches beneath bare feet

We have walked the soles off our moccasined feet,
No water can quench our thirst, for no water is given
We have dried up, blown away, like the husks of corn

Oooo, oooo, the wind has a sudden voice, we do not

Believe me, I was once vibrant and young,
Strong but lithe and slight of frame, and pretty.
Filled with love of life and with hope,
I felt nothing could match my strength,
And throughout much of my life, few things did.
There was this whole world that was for the taking!

I strove with gusto to grasp much knowledge.
And flitted like a butterfly amongst it at my will.
Trees and fields were my currency, and
I felt rich in nature, which surrounded me.
It was what I valued, wealth spent judiciously.

I renewed and burned through storehouses of energy.
I wrapped myself in cloaks of green, wore flowers
Like talismans, encircled charms about the head and neck.
And I walked carpets of wildflowers as my path.
Nature, treasured, is imprinted on my soul to this day.
It is where I long to be, here and now, aging.

To my beloved family, I ask, only this request:
When life is done, sprinkle me among the pecan orchards,
Which was my first school, filled with many teachers, where
I, in studious quietude, spent my formative years. Remember
What shapes a person carries a person forward in life, yet,
Time, which we cannot alter, has its way with us, after all.

It is often true that you
Must sink to the bottom
Before you can rise upward.
Swim!

How brief, this life, oft filled with pain
That those more worthy should die,
More worthy than me.  

And I live still.
"Hasta luego," until later, dear friend
And until the day we meet again.

My love, I know, I know sweet love,
You used alcohol and drugs to stop the war in your head.
It never did stop raging within, as you raged without.  

The Viet Cong didn't get a bullet into you.
But the ****** was cheap and to a combat soldier, sweet.
So, I guess, they killed you slowly, softly.

You had been handsome, gregarious, and brilliant even.
I would help you clean yourself up, put you back together
Only to have you load that "gentle bullet" and fire it into your arms.

Stopping things in your head means eventually becoming brain-dead.
I saw the beautiful, intelligent man that you were become stupid.
Killed by that slow-moving, gentle bullet.

But it was not merciful.
It was not gentle.
Was it, my love?

(I borrowed part of a concept from Nolan Bucsis.)

You are not here.
You have never been where I am now,
Old age.

I told you:
"You are killing yourself.  Don't you understand?"
You did.

I told you
That I could not watch you **** yourself, slowly.
You did.

And now,
You have been gone for some forty years
From our bed.

You lived on
Still slowly taking the numerous poisons
That would end you.

They did
So, by design, I suppose.
You have been gone for almost twenty years.

You are not here.
I still am.
And yet, you keep perpetually leaving me.

Reality should soon set in, I warn you.
We are coming into that time of the year,
When temperatures rise and energy is too costly
As wages go down and prices climb higher.

Yes, we have failed ourselves and one another.
You will see those hungry faces looking for a crust.
While you are grateful for a roof and a bed
Hunger will continue to spread even to you.

As the insurance they paid into is cut off
The elderly will swelter and die in the heat.
As others look on, unable to sustain themselves
Or save precious others.