Grief Will Cease

I’m in a constant state of grieving.

I grieve my nanny.
I grieve my childhood dog, Rue.
I grieve my happy, healthy dog
lying across my knees.

I grieve yesterday,
and I’ll grieve today,
tomorrow,
because I know
the future ends with a shovel.

The shovel is already waiting.

But the last enemy to bleed
will be the Reaper.
His scythe will boil in the sea.

One day that shovel rusts.
Six foot is only a height.

Time keeps marching
and takes nothing with it.

But until that day,
I’ll not grieve
what was, what is,
and what has yet to be.

It’s not up to me.