She’ll sing the symphony of you
whose final notes brought scalding tears
as your duet came to its end;
a tune that echoed through the years.
Though God said it was time to go,
the loving twinkle in your eyes
and smile when she walked in the room
forestalled all thought of last goodbyes.
Then you were gone. The last notes played
as sweet surrender closed the score,
the lilts replaced with sad laments
of loss . . . there will be no encore.
A gentle rain of helpless grief
poured through her eyes from deep inside
the well-spring filled with plans and dreams
and doused the fires where hopes abide
And yet her voice will rise again
in triumph, fueled by love’s motif.
Your interwoven melodies
won’t be defined by loss and grief
Each measure, measured by your love,
with great crescendos, gentle rills,
formed movements that remain unchanged;
an opus formed, which death distills.
She’ll sing. The symphony of you
that fills her heart will ease death’s sting,
the miracle of having loved
the man who taught her heart to sing.
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Author Notes
This was written when a dear friend who lost her husband of almost 50 years. They used to sit and listen to classical music each evening as they shared cocktails before dinner.
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