One day this will all be yours my son
When my bones are wearied and my work is done
Until that day I will share with thee
All my wordly goods and hospitality.
I looked across the garden lawn
Each rock and boulder, each tree and flower forlorn
Planted and placed by this loving pair
With whom I had been fortunate my life to share.
She had passed away in early Spring
A moonless night she earned her wings
His saddened eyes then lost their light
She had been his diamond bright.
He carried on though his despair was clear
Determined to spend more time with those he held dear
With his estranged family he made his peace
He shared his stories of the past and his frustrations ceased.
The autumn came the nights were cold
His desire to die took a stronger hold.
The clock stopped at ten past three
For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
©Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for Day 9 of Napowrimo
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Hues of Hankinson 