The day you left me
My only consolation
You were not in pain
Welcome to Harcourt 51 – Where anything can happen – And usually does
The day you left me
My only consolation
You were not in pain
Calm, peaceful water
Gently rippling in the breeze
Sound of birds chirping
Spring shining brightly
In the autumn of my life
‘Twas a bad winter
Memories and feelings
All wrapped up in cotton wool
And bubble wrap;
Gently placed inside the box
With polystyrene pieces
And packs of desiccant;
Sealed and marked,
“Do not destroy,”
And archived.
For now, I have no need
Of memories or feelings;
Now that you’ve gone
And left me all alone
To face the bleakness of a future
Filled with sadness,
Filled with tears,
Filled with grief,
And uncertainty
Maybe, some day,
Our great grandchildren
Will look inside
To marvel at the love we shared.
“How quaint that they should be
Together, Oh so long!”
And give us pride of place
Upon their shelves
And mantels.
Or maybe you and I
Will reunite
To open up the box
And let the memories rekindle
The love that bound us
Together, forever;
To set the feelings free
To flood our hearts
And souls.
‘These three remain:
Faith, hope, and love;’
Anchors for this lonely soul
To which I cling with calloused hands
That long to feel
The softness of your cheeks.
Faith, hope, and love
That soon we’ll reunite
In Paradise.
I know many of my readers will have read this when I first wrote it.
It was originally written (with a different photograph) as a tribute to friends whose long and happy marriage tragically ended when she lost her battle with cancer.
Recently, however, it has taken on new meaning for me and I wanted to share it again. I hope you understand.
You can read more of my poetry here
Her tortured breathing
Slowed to a gentle whisper
Till she breathed her last
As life finally left her
He knew: Love would linger on
Mindful, focused eye
Looks outward, yet looks inward
In contemplation
A whispered refrain
Mournful on summer mornings
Wind through the reed beds
Gloomy summer’s day
Bobbing at the water’s edge
A lonely boardwalk
Beside narrow paths
Blackberries turning colour
Ready to make pie
Tick tock, says the clock
Marking time in little blocks
Seasons marching on