My evening has been whittled down to a soft,
Easy listening, a meditative sauntering.
The Ave Maria on my stereo of a thousand functions
Playing comfort to my last few November nights.
Emma lies at my feet stretching her importance
Like Greta Garbo and I,
Reclining on bliss.
Should I be taken at this moment I’d lift no regret
To the angels, no resentment on my shoulders and
No murmuring of “why me” for heaven to disdain.
Gratitude-- my only yoke
My sole hike.
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