Watering Dead Flowers Poem by Charles Hancock

For thirty-seven years, she had been there
And its been three years since she died
Life seemed just too damned unfair
Oh, how he misses his buxom bride

Now and then he cries at night
And going to sleep is often a chore
Sometimes it takes until first light
Before he finally starts to snore

He had met her while he was on vacation
At a seafood restaurant in Nashville, Tennessee
When she took his order for a large crustacean
Eighteen months later, they shared a family tree

The flashbacks of her are the only thing
He has left alive in his tattered heart
They remain a constant and don't change
When his world begins to fall apart

So he keeps watering the dead flowers
She'd planted in a clay pots on the back porch
He talks to her through them for hours
His passion for her still burns like a torch