April 13: The Widower
Well done, my friend.
You did good.
You did everything you could,
to the very end.
You offered love as sacrifice
You sheltered body, soul
never scorning the price.
You soberly endured the bitterest nights
which made the smooth years sweeter.
Arose each dawn newly avowed
to labor just to please her.
You took the role of confidant;
you stepped in when she could not.
Gentle when she was tender.
Through every infirmity, a pillar.
Stand tall, though your heart be broken.
There is no shame in grief.
Though the rooms ring hollow
and the hours lay bare,
your faithful heart is still there.
Now committed to bearing this pain,
it was not, it is not, given in vain.