what else is there to say

the old man,

dying,

slipping away as we all do

at some

point.

settled in his home

with lots

of shade.

deep in the hollow

of

old age.

forty years

and little has changed.

his children

not far,

the ex-wife

in the other room,

on her phone.

no pets

these days.

no strength

to garden

or rake. just the photo

albums

in his lap, as he

turns each page.

but it was a good life

while it

lasted.

what else is there to say?