Humbling Grumble

. for public domain Humbling Grumble (in the presence of "What have you been muttering?" Like Laura Wingfield and her glass figurines, indulging her comfort in daily routines, so near to the living, so far from being alive, resists drawing breath, no matter how I connive, cajole, entreat or entice, beckon or reckon; commits no sin, not she, no, not for a second. A force of nature, yet to me a chilling bane, distorts light, like shards of ice on a window pane. I sit and wonder, should I share life's living breath, with someone unfeeling, and much closer to death, than a cold corpse long asleep in a coffin buried? one who Kharon has across the river Styx ferried? And then I fondly remember, and sigh with shame, how we each once celebrated Life's long living flame, and vowed to fidelity, for better or worse not to abandon each other's side until the hearse arrives, and onto our own separate ways we travel and let go of our long raveled days. This, our sworn bond and cause for present tenderness, keeps me quiet by her side with muted and humbled acquiesce.