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Poem

There were his things, not estimating quote
the widow tracking lightly wherewithall,
his seasons, his reports, his favorite joke
and somewhere his adventures fill the wall.

The doors seem shut, but sunlight in between
does catch a space  to modify extreme,
how wise the time were then, as wisdom seen
unending, but in gathering still the dream!

Now, only place, but echo's still esteem
a gusty propelling, his voice would ream
exhilaration still encountered, seen
the used momentum rising to extreme!

How quiet home now sits, its thought's redeem
is in the parsonage of caring, life still earned
ne'er scuttled, nor embraced without restraint
as even prayer acquitting would adjourn!

The widow, not by rocking, watching scorn
but the activity of caring, not forlorn
and this as love, no maintenance now worn
can change the loves encounter, nor conform!

How be it our togethers took its tide
in other memories, transfixing, rung
when once we reached unerring, side by side
now memories of the wasted, lie unsung!

Left over, now as aged faith's succumb
enthusiasm shed amidst the young
cannot endure this epilogue of choice
it is by aging, true love finds a voice!

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