No sun that day,
just a windy sky of gray.
No birds to sing,
only those church bells to ring.
No laughter heard,
only the requiem’s final word.
(old stories told, memories firm hold)
Now his home is up for sale,
the final chapter in his life’s long tale.
All that time that came and went – now seems like letters never sent.
Coldest reality feel,
somehow does not seem real.
No sun that day,
just a windy sky of gray,
just a windy sky of gray.
T.S. Deary
2 March 2020
Pictures Assembled From Memory 