Vocation, these last past decades mine was our lives together,Imperfectly but honestly shared. I loved the life we built
Above all else.
Easy to be your wife, easily rewarded as you just loved me;
Nothing else came close. Memory can carry the sustenance of,
Not the substance.
What now the basis of my life, painting was avocation. A switch?
Your love become my avocation. Now possible painting be vocation?
Should it be?
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