I still get a tear in my eye
and a silent cry
when I think of a man who loved his wife.
She had long left this life
he now travelled through good, great and strife
without her hand holding his, or her head on the pillow over.
But he spoke of her often
with his eyes aglow and softened
like her memory was enough to sustain him.
I wept when he talked
I still weep at the thought
of that precious river of love that flowed with them.