Astride a black shadow, head into the night,
Hand on the throttle, you open it wide,
Wind tugs hard at your hair, you are in flight
Away from yourself, unconscious suicide.
This is the ultimate, final night ride
Into the Autumn forest of your life,
Where there is no point in trying to hide
What you can’t cut with a selective knife.
Misspent youth memories used to be rife,
They fall from fading branches of your trees,
The last clear picture of your loving wife,
Lost in crisp yellow brown up to your knees.
Still you roar into the darkness unknown,
Speeding up, now you’re finally alone.
Harry Rogers: Aberbanc – In the hut. 24th November 2016
abab, bcbc, cdcd, ee – Spenserian Sonnet
Subject – memory/dementia