A newspaper lay on the kitchen table, He wanted to read it, but he wasn't really able. His eyes, weren't what they used to be, And as days passed it was getting harder to see.
She placed a cup of coffee before him, Just as he liked it and filled to the rim. Her face was lined in wrinkles, and her hair was gray,
He loved her then, and even more so today.
The air smelled of bacon frying on the stove, And in the oven was fresh buttered toast. His eggs, as always were scrambled just right, Fresh from the chickens at dawns first light.
What a good woman he was blessed with, And after 50 years still took good care of him. He could tell her arthritis bothered her today, Because her movements, caused her eyes to squint in pain.
Her old, wrinkled fingers, had trouble grabbing hold,
And tears came to her eyes at the smell of burning toast.
He rolled to her in his old worn out wheel chair,
He had lost the use of his legs In the middle of last year.
His arthritic fingers reached out to take her hand And he smiled as he gazed at her wedding band. So simple and plain, and not really gold, But she was his, to have and to hold.
50 years today. Who cared about burnt toast? That was a lot of years for anyone to boast. Times had been rough, it had been a rocky road, But she had always been there to share the heavy loads.
She looked at him, puzzled by the smile.
This man had made her whole life worthwhile.
Now she couldn't even prepare his favorite breakfast, and On their anniversary he deserved the best.
To him it didn't matter, she was his wife,
And he would love her the rest of their lives.
He squeezed her hand, but not so much,
For over the years his hands had become rough.
He went back to the table whistling a tune,
It didn't sound right because he had just lost another tooth.
To her it was the prettiest sound in the world,
And though her legs ached she tried a little twirl.
It was harder now, she didn't move with youthful grace,
But it felt so good to see a smile upon his face.
He ate his bacon and eggs, scraped the black off of the toast,
And told her let the dishes go.
They went on the porch, oh, what a beautiful day, Hand in hand they sat, watching the squirrels play Many, years later their house sets empty, But it's said that early in the morning, you can hear laughter
That lasts throughout eternity.
© Cynthia Clark
Thank you, Jackie. Gil, now who is making who cry?
Wow that's beautiful ☓
Thank you , your writing is an inspiration to me, I love your stories!
Oh no. I enjoy hearing peoples stories. Sorry you were benched, but it sounds like you need a break. Tears, writing, and prayer are good for the heart. You take care of yourself and listen to your wife. Rest now. Let someone take care of you, now. And thank you so much for serving. I salute you, sir, and keep up the writing I enjoy it.
I understand how you feel , I lost both my parents back in 1963, my mom in the spring and my dad in the fall, I was 17 at the time with a 10 year old brother. I really never had time to grieve, had to grow up real fast. Fortunately we had a uncle who was able to take my brother in. I then went into the Navy and spent most of my time in Vietnam. Sorry you don't need my life story. However last year was also bad my wife lost a cousin and one of her brothers and the one that hit me most was the lost of one my nephews he was only twenty nine years old, I wrote one of my best poems about him, that was the only way I could deal with his lost. It's seems since then I have renewed my writing, which my wife has encourage me to do. A little over two years ago i had congestive heart failure and the doctors bench me, no more work, I have been working since I was 7 years old now I'm not so this writing out let is now my work, not that I consider myself as a writer, but more like a senile old man, babbling. Again sorry for babbling!
Yes it is. I have been crying a little too much lately. They say death comes in threes and it does, but from death comes life. With each death somewhere a child is born. Buried my Daddy last year, my aunt, (daddy's sister) a few weeks ago and mama will be buried Sunday. I am in a bit of a tear jerking mood.
We all need a good cry now and then it's good for the soul.
Thank you, Gil. Never let 'em see you sweat...I mean cry. Thank you, Gil. I will try, but no promises. After all I still have Broken Holler.
Dammit, Cynthia stop making me cry, I'm suppose to be a tough guy. But how can I play such a role with tear flowing from me. I absolutely love it, what a beautiful story!
Thank you both so much for reading and commenting.
Beautiful, Cynthia.