It’s the rainy days

When I’m more contemplative

When the heat is less of a threat

To my mind. These wet days

Eat at me, remind me of loss

But also of the good times

With the dearly departed.

Smiles, hugs, stories

Especially the stories

Which I barely remember

But were so important

To the teller, of how I wish

I had recorded them all some how,

Like that writer who saw his loss coming

And recorded Daddy dearest before he departed.

The gone have taught and told stories

But what of all that was never taught,

Never told, lost forever or bumping around

In another mind that listened more clearly,

Clearly more enthralled but the repeated

Guidance which I ignored.

Trudging through the sunshine

I wait for these days, rarely expecting

The rational mind, the thinker to return.

Hot days and hot work then steamy days

And steamy work and then a coolish day,

Part steam, part cool and the brain calms

Reemerges. But time to return the simpler,

Netflix and chill, brr, damp in air conditioned Halls.

    Gilbert Perry Wilcox

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