I wanted to try a Golden Shovel poem from an earlier prompt tonight. I happened to do this one, also on loss.
From W.B. Yeats – When You Are Old
“But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you”
The weather was always too hot for you, but
that didn’t stop us from taking joy from the one
thing we loved most–togetherness. You were such a man.
Afternoons were the times we talked and loved
best. Joy sparkled in our blissful oneness. The
trust in your soft eyes encouraged my pilgrim
spirit, your nurturing fed love into my soul.
No doubt crept between us, yet we parted in
disarray. My heart still beats with a hole in the shape of you.