This poetry remains the property of the author, Christy Ann Martine. No part should be reproduced in any form without written consent from Christy. Contact firstname.lastname@example.org
ONE DYING MOMENT
Your eyes follow the faded yellow curtains
as they move like floating angels;
Propelled by the warm summer current.
Years of wisdom etched upon your face,
as you lie now so stilly in the old pine bed.
The one that I carved for our wedding day,
nearly five decades ago.
In your small hand you hold a delicate white lily;
Picked from the prized garden
you so carefully tended to
until you no longer had the strength.
I listen to the clock,
ticking back and forth,
As it hangs on the wall in the kitchen
where you worked so diligently;
Sweet aromas filling the air,
turning a house into a home.
Your hand touches mine
but no words are spoken between us.
The sorrow in your eyes speaks volumes,
Regret of time wasted , days left unappreciated,
Seasons changing swiftly, life drifting forward
You smile now in a final attempt to reassure me
But it's too late now,
The flower falls from your hand,
Life passes my love and I will miss you.