As one gets old it is inevitable that sadness grows as beloved friends die. They have illuminated one’s life and now are lost. In protective action the heart tries to harden. Long ago I wrote a poem which has become more and more true with increasing age.
Tears
It’s no good sobbing for the dead. They’re gone,
they’ll never be back. Do not expect that a visit
in your dreams will be the same thing as sweet life,
memories of love and laughter real again.
They won’t return, they’ve left on their endless journey.
So no tears fall from the stone heart, better
so much better that grief be defeated.
Yet sometimes when the moon rises and the last
birds wing for home, I suddenly remember
and sob for those I loved and are gone.
