Surf spilling forward in sequential waves
And softly pitching thinning to the shore
I, nearby musing on my waning life
Each wave reminds me of a fleeting year.
One wave, one year, transient and then gone
Yet the sea does not run out of waves.
I’d gladly give up my remaining years
To certify my family would own joy.
Cloudless type of day when an eagle flies,
Lifts off the tallest tree to drift on air,
I dream I leave the highest point of life
When nothing’s left for me up there but glide
On currents warm and welcoming to me
Supremely high away from people’s pain
Gone from their cherished lives that gave delight
I can’t bear what I can no longer change.
© Ron Unruh, June 2019-06-10
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