She tells her stories from days gone by,

Memories of old, some truth, some lie.

Not a lie intentional, no she is outstanding,

But long ago, life was so demanding.

See, she really cannot remember so good anymore,

And her eyesight, well it is getting kinda poor.

Her stories as she remembers, or how she wishes them to be,

But we listen, we cry, we laugh, and we agree.

Oh, how we wished time would just hold still,

Back to the days when love and life were real.

She would take in strangers, many angels entertained,

But that was long ago, no memories remain.

“What is that you say?’ She cocks her head to the side,

“He is coming back, the army called,” She puffs up with pride.

It is regrettable. She loves her man, and misses him so,

But when Uncle Sam calls a man has to go.

“Now the winter of “41 nary a soul had much food,

Fear and heartbreak was mainly the mood.

Why near everything was rationed times was hard,

Soldiers everywhere. People afraid to leave their yard.”

She stopped speaking as tears streamed from her old wrinkled eyes,

“He is not coming. December 7th was the day he died.

“Do not know how, nor when, or where, just got a letter,

My world was lost, that day, and it never got better.”

“My only love, my life, they never brought my man home,

Until his return, I vowed to live all alone.’

She twisted her wedding band around her old wrinkled finger,

And did not bother to wipe the tears that lingered.

“Oh yeah, did I tell you about the time when…”

And she started rambling all over again.

Same stories, but each time the telling a little different,

But as we sat listening, we knew what she meant.

Such a love only comes once in your life,

It was not long that she had been a wife.

A child was born shortly after he left,

Died the same day, oh how she wept.

Only the memories remained, no keepsake,

No photographs, no trinkets, just a cabin by the lake.

She lives there, always has, always will,

Death claimed her long ago, but her ghost lives there still.

© Cynthia Clark