I can only honor
the woman that sat next to
her husband on the day of his death.
She held the only rose bouquet she's received from admirers.
Blood-stained rose petals sat in her lap.
I can only honor
the woman who stayed
with her dying husband.
She whispered, I love you
in a pleading voice,
wanting him to stay,
to come back home.
I can only honor
the woman who kissed her husband's lips
for the last time,
knowing she'd never get to touch him,
to kiss him,
to wake up to him,
to see him
ever again.
I can only honor
the woman who did not leave her husband's side
on the day he died.
I can only honor
the woman who held on
with such bravery.