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A cold December
May 13, 2014
Whenever I hear
The word cancer
It is a cold December in New York
I am
Lying beside my father,
Letting know how much I love him
And watching him take his last breath
I bid him goodnight
And he drops into the arms of death
But this is not my story.
My story is my mothers
Who cries herself to sleep
Yet never sleeps and day dreams,
Of her beloved husband…
RIP Pops
~1951-2008~
© Megan M., Rives Jct., MI
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