Little
old man; (2) His wife
Meanwhile
his lady love of fifty years,
too much pain for so few tears,
Worries about the future years
With the man of her life.
She worries when he goes for a walk in the park,
Sometimes so early, it's still pitch dark,
With his coat, his hat, and his hand knitted scarf,
He slowly disappears down the well worn path.
In the winter he goes the same way,
Though
there are no ducks to feed,
or children at play,
He gives a shudder, pulls his collar up high,
Walks through the gardens where his mates all lie,
Then slowly wanders home.
She's there to meet him as he comes through the door,
Doesn't mind mud on her nice polished floor,
The tea is brewing, the scones he likes best,
He'll be o.k. once he's had rest.
Fifty wonderful years she has had,
With
her lover, husband, handyman, Dad,
Always
did the best he was able,
Made sure there was food on
the table.
Fond of children loved by many,
In his pocket there was always
a penny,
Never bought lollies for the kids again,
That memory brought too much pain.
But come the spring when mother nature raises her head,
He'll be there with his bag of bread,
because nothing more has ever been said,
About the council's book of words.
(C) Copyright 1999
TIC
All Rights Reserved
