Snow

One day, and it is coming,

Just like the northern strong winds

I will become old and grey

Skin shrivelled and brain senile

Sitting often with a mug of tea in hand

And reminisce more about the past:

Did I love you enough?

Did I play with the kids often?

Did we smile and laugh a lot?

Just as we were there to bury our Dead

When we too become dead

Who will pick up the burden to bear?

So many questions

My mind grows weary with fear

This cup of tea is getting warm

Like me seated here by the fireplace alone

While outside it has started to snow.