Decrepitude Advances

"...though nothing can bring back the time of splendor in the grass of glory in the flower..." ---Wm. Wordsworth "...in sickness and in health/ 'til death do us part..." Your mortal flesh decays while mental failings mount and I, powerless, mourn your losses, in silent grief -- no slowing of the ravages and time's neglect -- little chance, now, to correct the many errors of the past. I guard your fitful sleep, remark upon your wrinkled brow and sparse remaining hair, hear hesitant, labored breath, and determine to bear (for how much longer?) willful, spiteful actions, bitter barbs, prompted by what you really -- really! -- know -- by what we both cannot accept and refuse to voice aloud.