The same of me

I wish to live despite my love has died

And I have no-one but a cat to feed and stroke.

In memory my love will long abide

Though as I write I feel my spring has broke.

My grammar and my spelling are perverse

I used to make religion out of  these.

But  now I feel that life is getting worse.

As if my heart’s been stung by monstrous bees

In such a state my words may get confused

My sentences are senseless as they’re writ

And as for syntax, it is now abused

As round this room the ghosts of lovers flit.

My grammar is not perfect yet it  be

Sad I can say just   the same of me

B