When Beloved Aged Die

When beloved aged die
one after the other,
in a string it seems sometimes.

I wonder is it their misfortune,
or is fate? Saving them, one more time,
shining down on them
as they bow-out before
something worse comes around.

They carried some shield with them,
as many died around them, years passing,
they remained. Now they are gone.
We lose the skirts of their protection.
We are as if left naked to the roughest fate.

When beloved aged die
one after the other,
in a string it seems sometimes.

10.23.10

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