Farewell my lovely,
Henderson had said,
Pushing his hat to
The back of his head,
Breaking a smile a

Mile wide, giving Jess
A touching lips kiss,
A small salute, thinking
Of war, the shedding
Of blood, a medal

Or two, all in one
Piece, if he got through,
Which he didn't, caught
His dying end in
42 and his

Drawled words lingered in
The air wherever
She went, on the porch
Sitting and looking
Out at the sky or

In bed gazing at
His photo on
The side, wishing he
Had lived long and loved,
Not fought fierce and died.