Cottage in the woods

I have been so sad these last few days
I can feel my life slipping away
it’s not that I have a bucket list
of things to do before I’m missed.

No, it’s more like regrets of things in the past
and how if I could I would change the last
fifty years of my life from what it has been
leaving in the parts I’m satisfied with
but changing those that are a myth
and give me the most grief and worry therewith

I even took a drive today
to visit one of the places I’d say
gave me the most pleasure to have built
out in the woods on five acres of land
with a little cottage, a barn and a shed or two
and why we moved, I haven’t a clue
except my wife was not satisfied
and me like a fool could not decide
between living out in the countryside
or moving closer to town a new place to reside
but like many a man I allowed myself
to be talked into moving against my will
and to keep the peace although it gave me no thrill.

Cottage in the woods with steps

I resent the recent turn of events
of growing old alone and in a place
when I would rather wear a different face
and time, especially time in its place
not so old and maybe still with a wife
although they tend to give me strife

Oh yes, I remember now
that life was not rosy all of the time
sometimes in order to keep the peace
and if a compromise to be reached
it was easier to let her have the last word
in order not to appear absurd
for we all know that those fights can’t be won
and are usually over before they’ve begun.

And as for the past fifty years
I’ve had a lot of good times it appears
met a lot of nice people and without any fears
had lots of pets over whom I’ve shed tears.

As for that place in the woods on five acres of land
a tornado passed through and blew it away
after I had sold it to people new
and why I should grieve I haven’t a clue
I guess it’s just a passing fad
and it makes me so bloody mad
that life is different in its own way
and nothing can ever stay the same
for this we know without any doubt
that time marches on and gives us a clout
as it goes on its endless rout
forward ever forward and knows no end.

Those of us made of flesh and blood
grow old with time which is understood
and eventually as with all life
wither and die just as we should.

Will we be missed, maybe for a while
for none of us have enough style
to make a mark that can’t be replaced
as we are part of the human race.

Old Graveyard

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