How it happened he wasn’t quite certain—
Couldn’t pin down a date or a place.
But at times everyday he’d remember,
Both the curve of her hips and her face.

Next he’d be saying, “I love you.”
And who knows, perhaps it was true.
Words at sixty forgotten—
The saying not easy to do.

And she loved him; she knew it for certain.
Missed his voice and his lips on her face.
But she fought it and all its temptations.
Kept her distance and maintained her space.

In the Fall of his life (she late Summer),
They each felt themselves pinched for time.
Twilight now drawing much nearer,
Both the wax and the wick in decline.

At night, alone, each would consider,
Past mistakes and the things left undone.
Fear is a powerful specter,
So the words simply stuck on their tongues.

Category: Poetry, Relationships

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