Who will remember you,
if not your wife?
Cook for you,
gather flowers for you,
sing you a song,
listen to your dreams,
laugh with you,
pray for you?
Who else will hold your hand?
God will;
but when God has given you
a hundred days to live,
your burden,
the depth of despair
cannot be known even by your wife.
You have been plunged
into a fiery trial;
your wife will follow you,
carrying the light for you
being quiet of her own pain,
icy loneliness, the door of
opportunity
already closing shut.
 |
| Christian Schloe, The Rose Garden |
Everything else falls away:
comforts, silly thoughts, outbursts
of empty emotion.
There are only
frosty quiet mornings
your hands holding mine tight
your earnest look of not knowing how or where
your tears that frighten me
endless prayers for mercy
your sorrowful eyes, oh how sorrowful
and an infinite, consuming love.
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