4.20.2015
I can’t do what you
do anymore, he
said
I’m just too tired,
too fuzzy.
Don’t wait for your
bucket list, she says,
after eighty it just
gets too hard.
And yet there they
both are, still getting
to the church, in the
car, down to lunch,
out.
Buckets filled, lives
moving, twinkle
in eyes even if
now part dimmed.
Alone in their apartments,
yet not. Still known and
knowing, still caring.
Doing what they can.
Well done.
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