Workshop # 2

I see him sick, tired, and old 
clinging on to memories of times of old
While clinching my hand as to say it's OK,
He senses my sadness and smiles
Closing his eyes - 
Both knowing it's time
As I walk through the night, his soul is adrift, 
but I sense his presence in the mist
The trees and wind sing - Oh sweet songs, 
silhouettes of birds flying to and fro 
they're all trying to comfort me this I know
As my tears begin to flow 
I think of better days of smiles and laughs, 
and stories told
But like so many times before, we part, 
but not forever more