A hard day’s work, and nothing to show.

Little food for the table, crops that won't grow.

Five little children, tears in their eyes.

For their fear and pain, there is no disguise.

So little rain, this past year,

And very soon, winter would be here.

How would they make it, what would they do?

Neither the father, nor the mother knew.

Wrinkled and grey, before their time,

Their years of struggle hadn't been kind.

Another day, another month, another year,

Would their relief ever be near?

One day at a time began to take its toll,

Putting in both heart and soul.

Calloused fingers, rested on their hands,

Fingers to swelled, for their wedding bands.

Mother sits down by the old wood stove,

Resting her tired, achy bones.

A mournful sigh, passes her lips,

As she rests her head, in her fingertips.

She tried to stop the tears that fell,

But she couldn't, and it was just as well.

She had held them off for so long now,

Maybe, just maybe, it would help somehow.

Rising from the chair, she walked out the door,

Never would it be as it was before.

The old wooden swing called her name,

And it creaked, as she settled her small frame.

So long ago, but not really so,

There was a field of crops, and grass to mow,

Plenty of water, filled the old well,

And the strawberries, told their own little tale.

Those had been good times for them,

And though times were rough, she still loved him.

She didn't notice, the blue sky turn grey,

She didn't notice the sun fade away.

Tiny drops of rain, fell from the sky,

Harder they came, as the clouds rolled by.

He ran from the field, a smile on his face,

Then came the children, in a close race.

Mother joined them, playing in the rain,

For once they were happy, and feeling no pain.

He held her tightly, as the rain soaked their skin,

And to their love, there would never be an end.

Together forever they had sworn,

And even the hardships, they no longer mourned.

The children are grown now, they've all moved

Away, mother and father are more in love each day.

Though she’s old and wrinkled, and over sixty,

Father still tells her she looks pretty.

Their love survived decades and more,

And he gazes at her as his feet hit the floor.

In death she looked so calm and peaceful,

And to him, still very beautiful.

Tears flowed from his eyes down his cheeks,

How was he to get through these next weeks?

Without her strength, and the love she gave,

His heart would go with her, into her grave.

He bent down, and kissed her forehead,

Praying he had made a mistake, she wasn't really

Dead.

Yet she was, and he knew in his heart,

that it was the end. Time for them to part.

"I love you darling, and I always will, the

Emptiness inside will be so hard to fill."

He had no need to worry, as he clutched his

Chest. He fell, beside her, and lay in eternal

Rest.

In an old dirt grave, the two reside,

As in life, they remain side by side.

© Cynthia Clark