Fashioned In Love

I recall watching football, on tv with dad;
more than half a century ago;
memories of such times, make me sad;
of games played in wind and snow.

I don’t even remember the scores or teams;
there were far too many to remember;
those times together were imbeded in dreams;
the times with my dad in September.

Watching football on tv; no longer the same;
such games have no lasting impression;
they’re all meaningless; for it’s only a game;
even good memories lead to depression.

I wasted my life in meaningless endeavors;
just the mere thought of it; makes me cry;
we all live out our lives; expecting forevers;
oblivious to the fact that all must die.

Time has a stranglehold over our life;
and has no intent to turn loose;
a thought made clear when I lost my wife;
time is the engine; we’re the caboose.

All truth resides in the residue of thought;
death is mere change; not an end;
we are the love; that the Master wrought;
death is our time to ascend.

This life is but a small fragment of eternity;
each was created as a word above;
death is the prelude to a new maternity;
every word was fashioned in love.

Monty 12/18/23. # 1,889