by Adrian Calhoun
Your older now, but you've never been alone,
not like this.
The memories are harder to remember exactly,
but they come more frequently.
Smells that lingered on have drifted away.
It all quietly fades into memories,
until your standing at a simple stone
trying to remember a face,
her face, forty years ago.
The day you met,
a sweet smile,
pearls on her ears.
That one day,
that one memory,
is just like the back of your hand.
The hand that has changed itself
from strong and blistered with work
to wrinkled and arthitic.
A body no longer able to burden the load,
has been driven all these years with the love
that has never faded, never wrinkled, never died.
Posted on 09/03/2010
Copyright © 2023 Adrian Calhoun
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Linda Fuller on 09/03/10 at 11:48 PM|
Sweet and moving poem.
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/28/10 at 01:40 AM|
Aging does not take away certain memories for sure--unless it is some kind of dementia.
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 12/26/13 at 03:56 PM|
I read this again with perhaps deeper understanding as the years have slipped by since the death of my wife. I still have strong memories of Barbara though it has been nearly 20 years since she died.