She Is the One

His strong arm wraps her frail, labored shoulders Together they whisper against the clear, glass wall All pain has passed, and they behold an answered prayer A glorious blossom that has been entrusted to their hands The child in the bed has a smile of morning They know but still they ask – Is she the one? The voices crouch upon the bedroom windowsill looking in from the night with curious eyes Their fairy hands clasped together as though in prayer Watching the rosy dreams that float above the girl whose sleepy sighs breathe through the room like a song With pressed fingers, they think – Is she the one? He holds the black and white photo with his fingertips as though when touched with flesh it might fade away like the ending of a perfect dream, that lasts, in memory yet hangs like aurora lights – there but not there. Raven-black eyes kiss the sweet face in the picture and written on his sighing lips – Is she the one? She is like a willow, he, the poet resting in her shade Bound with much more than two golden rings It is long since they have given oaths of eternal love But not once have their hearts stepped away from each other With eyes made one they watch their child wreathed in lilies Unspoken are their words – Is she the one? He has been at the bedside for the past ten days He has been beside her for the past fifty years Wrinkled hand holds wrinkled hand, together tender The sweet face, now lined and creased, is more than beautiful He remembers the old picture, the love-wrought words A smile recalls them – Is she the one? Above them, unseen, the voices have returned The slender lights that have always watched her through the years from the beginning, and now at the end Their eyes are wet, but they have come to fetch the soul, her innocent heart to take away in their fairy hands Like music are their words – Is she the one?