I do not grieve for that, I owe you so much more
for all those long, long years of single-minded love
you gave to me. I called it ‘cupboard love’,
the times we shared sweet treats - but teasingly.
My words were lightly said, not meant for real.
Now sorrow has o’erlaid those pleasant memories,
and I fear that I may never be that smiling self again.
This gloomy house reflects my empty hours,
the loss of you is felt in every room.
I miss the shared routine of how we were:
experiences shared, that take a lonely life
and make it seem worthwhile and meaningful.
That next-door cat sat on the fence and stared,
unheeding, when I called to shoo him off.
I’m sure he senses you have gone away,
and sees me solitary, so doesn’t care.
Our garden is alive with colour, and bees on flowers
and on the clover in the grass. There I stand
with hose in hand, and miss your watchful presence
by my side, through oh, so many pleasant hours.
All these – these things we loved and times we shared –
are why I grieve, beloved friend. I loved you so.
I know you had to die. All life must end, I know.
But knowing cannot ease the hurt in me.
