The days are too short and I am too late to Fall.
Already squirreled away are days of memories.
Flights of fancy replace flights of geese as I stray
along paths emptied of those I loved and knew.
No masks can hide the loss of smiles
stolen by chronic illness and despair
that movie theaters, museums and restaurants
will ever be safe for those who struggle to stay well.
Longer nights are a blessing in disguise,
where one can hide the lack of company
and loneliness subsides.
Too late to Fall. Too ill to conceive a winter
depleted of all company.
With the sun hope rises, only to set too soon.
In the midst of all this, it is too late to Fall.
Only so many years are left to share
with friends and family, if I dare, at all.
I am too old, too sick,
too late to Fall.
annarino writes 