All Our Years by Stan Long

She leaves softly
the bed she makes for me,
sets the house in order before I wake.

On the table
places my meal without fuss,
tendering to me
as a good wife will.

Our needs met in order
as they rise,
she to mine and I to hers.
Those kindnesses

and all our years crush
to one moment
when her life goes out,
stops on the page.

In memoriam, sheets
lie crumpled
he table is not set
and flowers go dry
in the vase.

¿-2008-Long, Stan

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