Tears, From An Old Fool

Now my soul is gone,    
as my wife used to say,    
"in dreams of fishing hooks    
tobacco-stained chamber pots    
and crawdads"    
   
now rod and reel are gathering dust    
and the crawdads are gone    
as the silence weeps    
but my memories are there    
   
besides the picket fence    
were she now sleeps    
hearing wind chimes in the air    
but none are there    
   
just tears from an old fool,
who loved her too long
holding on to what I have lost.