Years ago the Doctor said to me,
My exit physical from the Air Force
"Son, you have three to five years
Organs are growing slowly
Some can be removed some cannot
My advice is to stay and let us treat you."
6 ft three 130 ibs I was sick not getting better
I went home thinking I was going to die
It was not fair to my girlfriend
So when her letter came I wrote upon it
Recipient deceased
She flew to be with my mother
Saw me in the front yard with my sister
Always get second opinions
"You suffer from food allergies
You are not dying who told you that?"
My letters were returned, recipient deceased
Someone is looking for you?"
It has been fifty five years
I knew the face--I'd like to know how things worked out
But reality I must keep it a dead letter