Ride It

This was written while I was grieving for my sister. I don't quite know why it took this form - a sort of Country-style Ballad.

You shattered my photograph.

I drafted our epitaph.

You threw out my flowers.

I'm counting the hours.

Though I know you'll go at break of day -

When the old trail beckons,

You will ride it -

I shall not try to make you stay,

Simply smile and let destiny decide it.

For we said all we had to say

When you accused me - and I foolishly denied it.

So, leave me and go your lonely way.

When that old trail beckons -

Ride it.

You shattered my photograph.

I drafted our epitaph.

You threw out my flowers.

I'm counting the hours.