The first week in November is a tough one for me.
The 2nd, 4th and 6th hold such sad memories.
Loss in the extreme, in only two short years.
Grieving for the three of them, haunted by my fears.
Next year I’ll make a promise to hold myself close.
Maybe take a holiday and give it my utmost.
The first week of November, in twenty sixteen.
I’ll write a happy poem to tell you where I’ve been.