Two Sorrows and a Lie

You cannot charm away the grim reapers; No matter how beautiful your slick tongue Bathes your bottom lip; to give air lippers ‘til oxygen craves your depleting lung, Because I saw you but once every year, I forget to acknowledge your grave— mourn. I keep this anger in my knapsack near; Moment the next I laugh like a newborn. I hear of some place north of the blue day That takes smiles like yours and paints eternal, With joy of cattle in vast fields of hay And hearts like the footnotes in your journal.