As I lay in our old wedding bed,
I listen as Death quietly calls upon me.
And now a final request.
A pen from our son,
Paper from the sketchbook that captured your final day,
And your wedding ring within reach.
On this paper,
I will pen a description of you.
Words that bleed the beauty you held,
Stanzas that depict the love never forgotten,
Written in the deepest longing literature can convey.
And as I write my final verb,
Death fills my hand with yours.
42 years of waiting a memory,
An eternity ahead,
And evidence of your beauty left behind.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 1:09 PM UTC
As I lay in our old wedding bed,
I listen as Death quietly calls upon me.
And now a final request.
A pen from our son,
Paper from the sketchbook that captured your final day,
And your wedding ring within reach.
On this paper,
I will pen a description of you.
Words that bleed the beauty you held,
Stanzas that depict the love never forgotten,
Written in the deepest longing literature can convey.
And as I write my final verb,
Death fills my hand with yours.
42 years of waiting a memory,
An eternity ahead,
And evidence of your beauty left behind.
