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.