The Old Man On A Bench... Poem by chantelle ribeiro

An old man on a withered bench
Down by the ocean's end
Staring at the stormy sky
wondering if she's there up high
watching him sit in their favorite spot
where he wrote - forget me not...
'Here is the bench where we would sit
you and I a perfect fit'
He whispers softly to the wind
and wishes she would hear
how he misses her
or wipe the tear
that silently creeps down his face
as he remembers a time and place
Her lively eyes
Her soft grey hair
Memories so bitter-sweet
are all he has of her
And in his gnarled old hand
he lovingly holds her wedding band