A poem for My Cousin Harold may he R.I.P.
I seem to be able to write about anything
Whatever crosses my mind
It may be something I have lost or something I can’t find
It may be of that certain one who lingers deep inside
That drifts in my sea of memories in a place I cannot hide
The words don’t seem to matter
The images are there
So many scenes so crystal clear
I know I now must bear
How could it have been different
What would have changed what was
We all have our misgivings
We all live with the cause
As new days move on past us
We find reasons to work and fuss
While those we miss and loved so dear
At times in dreams they reappear
We smile and laugh and give a cheer
Then look up to him and cuss.
— WOLRAD
(A poem from the Wolrad collection #238)
