Autumn’s assured tones fade
as age old fears
silver your hair and knot
your frozen fingers.
Winter takes you by the hand
and leads a weary path
into December.
You mix cocoa for your invalid
who has escaped
to re-fight the conquered enemy
in foreign lands.
Leaving you to stay and fight,
to guard his home front
entrenched in sand.
Long, unfulfilled nights stretch
toward the end
accompanied but alone
through wasteful years.
You check the carriage clock,
a golden wedding present
its chime insincere.
Sharing powdered pills between
two cocoa cups,
you extinguish the light
and sound a final retreat.
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