In Loving Memory

It was a little bit past seven
  when I walked into his room;
the lights were off, the drapes were pulled,
  it looked more like a tomb than the “home” of my beloved.
              But here is where he waited.

What I could not understand
  is why he would be here and not at home at rest with me
  where I could hold him near.
              But this is where he waited.

Oh, they knew him at the hospice,
  at least, they knew his name, but I was his “compadrè”,
  their love was not the same.
              Yet here is where he waited.

I opened up the curtains to let some daylight in,
  he sat up, looked at me, then said with a grin, “Mì Compadrè!”
    His voice sounded so thin,
              so tired of waiting.

He motioned me on over,
  so I sat down by his side, took his hand, stroked his hair,
    and held him as he died.
              He no longer waited.

= = = = = = =

It’s been two years since that day.
    Today I went back to his grave to return a treasure to my love,
        one I thought I’d always save.

“I’ve come to say good-bye, sweet Mitchel.”
    The words fell from my lips as the ring he always wore for me
        fell from my fingertips.

I knelt one last time
    and placed a rose beside the stone.

Then, with tears streaming down my face
    I wished for one last long embrace
    and was glad I was with him in that place
    the day the angels stopped their waiting,
              and took sweet Mitchel home.

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