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My Ever Lovely

I fear it is too late for true love
Waiting on now broken yet bent knee.
Is it even possible to capture happily ever after?
How do I find she, my ever lovely, from Gurnee?
Callow gazes have passed over to gray hair
As the dimples sink beneath the aged wrinkles.
A once-charming visage is but only hinted at now,
Though sometimes the eye can conjure crinkles.
And children have come and soon spouses fled—
Those great matches of youth are like history, all dead.
Is it now our time to trip lightly and fancy free?
Can we meet for just breathing on the streets of Gurnee?
But the sun sets on our seekers of real love;
Knights errant stumble now when bending to knee.
Is it even possible to capture happily ever after?
How do I find she, my ever lovely, from Gurnee?

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A New Adventure (Same Old Story)

Chasing happily-ever-after
Miles and miles over the road;
Hoping the fair princess
Can discern in this hapless toad

Inside loom love and kindness
Along with old pain and mischance.
But to worry a bit of brie
Along with, just maybe, a dance,

Would be any true man’s dream.
So, a road trip in a new September
A start of something special—
Or an adventure to long remember?

Two empaths to closely encounter
And perhaps co-mix their life stories;
High hoisted on tenterhooks,
Dreaming of better glories.

So All Ye, All Ye, In Free! I’m going to fair Slidell.
Wish for me your best and let’s see what a fortnight can tell.

–“It’s still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.”

There Was That Tear That Refused To Fall

There was once that tear that refused to fall
It lingered long but turned deaf to gravity’s call
A hospice someone had thanked and departed
Seems the end can be a long time before it is started

Instructions passed calmly for our nurse erstwhile
Morphine administered to salve a torment febrile
Half, then, quarter, then, tenth of breaths short taken
The daughter was only too aware though rudely shaken

Why did God allow such stupid pain to tartly linger?
Cannot God wave it all away with a half-crooked finger?
The line is that it is not ever ours to even wonder
At the lithe petal that can mock the mighty thunder

Mother then at long last breathed her living last
And son and daughter became bereaved newly-cast
And that tear that just would not suffer to fall
Was joined in torrents heeding mourning’s pall
A history written and rewritten for the to-be-departed
Seems the end can be a long time before it’s even started

Ms. Mary Q

Mary Quantrell, Mary Quantrell
Who absolutely no one knows well—
Flew our fair flag for that one Genl. A.P. Hill,
But Poeters STILL Cite That farbara britchie Still?!
T’would be a grand thing if they’d get it right,
But them sad Yankees poets can’t by a sight.
So when next in Glenwood Cemetery off North Capital Street
Doff yer cap for Ms. Q the discounted and remember her sweet.
Antietam took over 22,700, and so Abe gave us The Proclamation—
KNOW YOUR HISTORY, we owe it to Mary and all the Nation!

More or Less

More and more
Every day
My childhood sloughs off
All the dandelions are blown away
Less and less
Every night
I long for my true love—
All the possibles have left my sight
Now and again
From space and time
I render a better verse
And words ring in polysynchronous rhyme
Back to the beginning
Let’s pretend
The affairs of Man will make sense
And it all comes out better in the end
More and more
Every day
Our demise ekes ever closer
All the dandelions are blown away