The Weaver

This old cabin floor is talking back again Complaining about my muddy boots and the state I’ve left it in. But it’s really not so rattled because it’s lying soft and warm, Half covered by the woven rug you made from rags and yarn. I can see that satin robe there, braided ‘mongst my ragged jeans. I recall it wasn't easy for you ripping out those seams. Two weeks of evening silent songs you took to weave it through. You sat there like a sailor’s dream while I tried to write for you. I don't want to see the candle burning low. I don't want to see the river running slow. It reminds me of the love we used to know, And the night you had to go. Your presence near, the tune it floats like smoke above the room. I couldn’t find those missing chords, frustration came too soon. But now alone your evening song seems easier to write. I wish you hadn’t left so soon because singin’ don't seem right. The melody you'd never call a catchy upbeat tune, But the lyrics lay my feelings out, about my love for you. The verses weave in simply, they are smooth and tightly tied. Like the rug you wove last year, the year before you died. I don't want to see the autumn turning cold. I don't want to see the fire lose its glow. They remind me of our time together not so long ago. About year or so. I don't want to see the candle burning low. I don't want to see the river running slow. It reminds me of the love we used to know, And the night you had to go. Contest: 'Writing Prompt - Ache -' Sponsor: Constance La France Submitted: 4/23/22 Judged: 4/26/2021 First Place co-winner