In the bone-chilling wind, the crunchy brown leaves
swirl around the feet of the elderly man who grieves
the loss of his wife, cancer and time being the thieves.
The priest had told him, “You’ll see her again if you only just believe.”
“There’s more to this life than what you can perceive.”
These platitudes have always been among his pet peeves.
He’d rather be broken-hearted than deceived.
He stops to scratch his nose with a red flannel sleeve.
Soon, he thought, he will be dust too—everything he had and everything he achieved.
But this was just the beginning of his story, the rest he couldn’t have ever conceived.
As with almost anything I write that's rhymed, it was demanded by the prompt, which wanted us to use a single rhyme scheme at the end of every line.ReplyDelete