Early November Poem by Tamara Turner

On the first week of november, I got a call that I will forever remember.
It felt cold outside as the window started to pick up.
I felt like I just been hit by a semi metaphorically.
Then I felt this wave of guilt thinking how it wasn't fair.
One moment they are here living breathing The next minute there forever gone in the afternoon life.
Somewhere out there where no one living can reach them.
They are gone to a place to meet their maker.
While those who are left behind are still
here.
But one day when it is time they will see them later.