Death Knocks

Death knocks I’m stuck in the bog land of poetry Trying to make a small manuscript of thirty pages. I have reached 29 pages, but all seems so futile Words I have written before keep cropping up I can’t endlessly repeat myself. A doctor visit at the hospital was not uplifting I’m trying to shake off the depression hanging over me Dark clouds are blocking the sun, and it is cold The future is bleak nothing to look forward to My wife is ill, so I’m stuck here when I want to go home To my village, I Algarve. The dream is to go home and die where I was reborn Remembering my dog and the long walk we had.