It’s time to write you a sonnet, my dear.
Time to celebrate your silver hair. Your
silver laugh. The way you focus and hear
me when I speak. The way your smile can cure
my doubts with life, can buttress my sad care
for humanity with hope. Downstairs bright
Vivaldi’s violins cheer the night air,
help me cope with loneliness, the lost sight
of you. What higher power gives us -- gifts
to protect and guide us – surely begins
with a fellow soul, an honest heart to lift
the search from dark to light. I miss your shin
and shoulder pressing mine at a play. Tame
my tongue, since meals without you aren’t the same.
Roger Armbrust
March 25, 2020
