She used to hold my hand as she goes,
Cracking serious jokes,
And our hearts locked close.

Her hair the color of a raven's wing,
Glasses on her nose,
Wise and sharp like an owl's they bling.    

Now the years have flown by,
And some stranger guarding by her side,
For her body failed her, she cried.

Long, curly locks no more.
It was summer, then it's cold.
White as snow, to the core.

No words come when we talk.
But the tv's on, which colors
The speechless nature of our dialogue.