His days are numbered

A journey, fate is determined to take my Dad.

Old age, ( 94 ), stage four cancer makes me sad.

This came across the wires on Friday’s phone call.

My thoughts, bring to this reality, this may be all.

His last words, three thousand miles away, I hear.

They now become the grit for my greatest fear.

His face, his humour, his spirit will not be around

for my grandsons wedding, when I am in town.

I pray that the coming of this July,

tears do not cloud, make for a blue sky.

Shroud the essence behind my third eye,

filling my hours with tears, as I cry,

for the loss of my Father,

rising to meet his Mother.

B. J. “A ”2

April 9^th, 2018