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His beard is grey and wizard like
His gaze is sorrow, joy and wisdom
His breath a willow stern fouraging across a table
He wishes not inside of me, he wishes indeed my conscious
I fast forward and see strength, withered and strength again until the final calling
My sparrow is adrift from the raven in his mourning
I travel here to lonely place where I shall no longer smell a trace of aftershave
I feel my limbs and ache, my toes wiggle searching for his instep
I can indeed activate myself in charity and grandchildren and knowing
The fear I feel is tangible to be 65 and alone unimaginable
So much at stake
A decent humble kind being with turmoil behind and not infront?
I crumble thinking of the word NO not for me
Yet it rumbles in the guttral
Don't fellow the soul embrace embark on onwards warrior solo woman.
