76 years.

Now he lives on the 8th floor,
she lives on the sixth.

2 floors,
two buttons,
and 20 feet away.


He travels
by cane.

Relieved
they don't make those things
out of saw-dust,
she lives

2 buttons,
two floors,
and 20 feet away.


Too much momentum
to spin her attempts,
he waits for her to go downstairs.

Paces in front of the window each day,
and when she makes her move,
he hurries down
-well, he tries-
so she won’t assemble outside,
unaccompanied.

Always wondered what they talked about,
perhaps the loss of their only daughter
thirty years ago.

That other day
she sat alone,
and I thought

...perhaps he had taken a nap...
and as she rested there waiting,

she joined him,
in the only way she could.

g`day misty, the remains of love, frail and weak, living on, in the best way it knows~a very touching verse. we may never know the memories of the elderly (once young and vital) unless we take the time to listen and learn,wonder and give a little of our selves...you have written with understanding and compassion and i thank you for this verse, keep well and take care greg..

Magical as always dear Misty. Merry Christmas to you.

Rodger