An Awfully Big Adventure (Poetry)

He will not see another Spring
he will not hear the church bell ring
nor feel the cool wind on his cheek
or check the lottery each week

He will not sigh to see the rain
or flinch against deep-rooted pain
nor sit and nurse those old regrets
he half-remembers, half-forgets

He can’t imagine how this room
will echo back its empty gloom
when everything is boxed and gone
all that was his (and hers) moved on

The vacancy he knows he’ll leave
even now he can’t believe
he’s near the end — in Heaven’s sight
tomorrow maybe ... not tonight

And should, perchance, the wait be long —
a month or more — the doctors wrong
about how swift the end might be
he’ll cross the days off stoically

That big adventure close at hand
he will prepare the best he can
pack a good life, lay out a suit
and pray there is a scenic route