The End

One dark night, my nineteenth year, Uniformed men knocked at my door. They refused to say what I had to see, "The End" at twenty-three. (brother) I was twenty-three that April That the phone call came. It was dawn. She was gone. "The End" at fifty-four. (mother) It was April again, my thirty-eighth year. Half a world away, middle of my day, Came the phone call again. "The End" at sixty-seven. (father) I was forty-five and still alive, Then torrentail tears wouldn't stop. When they did, the pain left me.