how must we be
living underneath the ginkgo tree
does it shade our skin
or venture further therein
sounds of violins
how then do we meditate
when wearing a steel breastplate
our thoughts locked in the crate
waiting for our time of fate
or is it too late
can we ever fully clean the slate
is the task too great
how then will we erase
all the tears gathered in the vase
stained thoughts on paper plate
time to regurgitate
seasoned words of late
layered pages lie in state
sign of fate
august 18 2018
Widowed Without A Manual 