Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

A blanket he kept, so soft and warm
Held the faintest hint of her perfume
He refused to toss it, into the wash
The fragrance would no longer loom

Her coffee mug and glasses, sat there
On the patio table, they were waiting
For her to return, to finish her book
The one, she said, was so frustrating

He made sure the candle was burning
Should she return to this place, near dark
So he sat on the porch swing, humming
Like they used to do, in the county park

A heavy sigh, now escaped his lips
As he slowly stood, to go back inside
He couldn’t bear to blow out the candle
So he stood there instead, and just cried

The love of his life was no longer
Her dreams were never quite fulfilled
He gathered her warmth, from the blanket
But he still couldn’t evade death’s chill

December…