Adrift

Who would you save

If we drifted at sea?

Your sainted mother?

Or little, old me?

The myth I’ve spun out

For ever so long,

That I am invincible,

That I am so strong;

Is just that: a story.

It’s simply not true .

All my hope left hanging

On my deep love for you.

This heart doesn’t pump

With vigor, my dear,

It cannot survive

Alone in its fear.

The time for choosing

Is approaching quite fast.

The blackness is gaining,

My strength will not last.

You waver, you promise,

You live on in such hope,

As I burble downward,

A long, lonely slope.

A good life to you--

And to her, I toss, with two sighs,

I thought you’d choose me,

The optimist dies.