Asymmetrical Sonnet

For the sake of our beloveds, we fight Against death, though the fight left within us Has no real heft, to court the fading light- We'd rather leave, than face the fuss. The spark left in our beings, just enough To blink our eyes, squeeze their hand, assure That of lifes rare treasure, we've had enough And now it holds for us little allure. After eighty years, we have our doubts We'll leave at all, and likely molder neath The ground, forcing more daisies above out, So to them, our near and dearest, we ‘queath A plot of soil, long days of sun, ceaseless toil- As earth roils through her seasons: yea, we, too, roil.