4.20.2015

I can’t do what you

do anymore, he

said

I’m just too tired,

too fuzzy.

Don’t wait for your

bucket list, she says,

after eighty it just

gets too hard.

And yet there they

both are, still getting

to the church, in the

car, down to lunch,

out.

Buckets filled, lives

moving, twinkle

in eyes even if

now part dimmed.

Alone in their apartments,

yet not. Still known and

knowing, still caring.

Doing what they can.

Well done.

——————–