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July 22, 2024

Leaving Me Softly

By Peter A. Witt

Leaving Me Softly

It's hard to watch you slip away
as if called by voices I can not hear
to an inner world only you can occupy.

Through 47 years we've greeted
each other when the sun casts
golden hues over the valley mountains,
we've sat on the porch drinking morning tea
listening to twitter of early birds, watched
rabbit kits warily eating tendrils of new
spring grass, hoped the red tail hawk
nesting nearby wouldn't scoop them up.

We raised children together, schooled them,
watched them marry, shared the joy of cookie baking,
kite flying with wide-eyed grandchildren.

On some days, when moody clouds
descended, we argued over big and little things,
none of which left a permanent stain,
some of which required us to make up
with kisses, soft music, and a warm bed.

I watch you sitting in the window warmth
of an early spring day, staring at the bluebonnets
bursting with perfume, eyes soon nodding off
for one of your many naps. A tear rolls
down my cheek remembering our lusty
morning conversations, as I repeat our
ritual of reading you the headlines
from the overnight sports section.

Article © Peter A. Witt. All rights reserved.
Published on 2021-03-01
Image(s) are public domain.
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