The Loss of Margaret


I saw anguish today.

A sharp, handsome man,

in his 89th year,

left for the funeral mass of his

beloved wife.

Escorted by an equally handsome son,

dressed in a fine black suit,

he sadly departed.

Later, I saw a smartly dressed

middle-aged man,

standing by the nurse’s station.

He had a small, unreadable smile

on his face. 

As I neared I saw his widowed father.

His fine black suit was mussed.

He was splayed in a wing chair,

his tie undone.

A woman was kindly comforting him

with trite words, unheard.

He was barely recognizable.





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