‘It will get colder than this’, said He,
On a rainy late August afternoon.
Knowing that would not matter
I thought of him alone in his chair.

So sad I was but not for me, now,
I had known for such a long time
And the pain spreads itself along
But thinking him, singular, alone.

I no longer able to comfort him
Or stroke his hair’s silver thread
And watch a finger on keyboard
This is unbearable priceless love.

Love Mary x