Spoke to him the idle man
now sits alone a bar stool
seems becomes his friend.
All the others know the fool.
Once inside were a sweet dream,
a violin concerto plays his memory
soft her smile, serene did seem
a minute, together a forever melody.
If only then had he known today
might she have weathered the storm
ahead sensing his unraveling way.
Without explanation he lost form.
With no one looking the fool might cry
For then more simply it is a time to die.
©️ Thom Amundsen 8/2021