Birding Boomers

He sleeps down at the graveyard –

Lays his head down by her tombstone to rest.

So many years he would lay down

Beside her at night

Go through all his troubles

And heartaches,

She’d just say

Fiddle-de-dee and stuff, my love,

Just let it go.

Look how blessed you are;

Others have it so much worse.

And he’d smile sleepily

And agree, pull her close,

And sleep peacefully through the night.

Even through those long months

When the chemo

Caused her skin to dry and itch

And turn walnut brown.

And her hair fell out in clumps.

She’d still hold him close

And help him to find

Things to love, to cherish,

And to remember

How much he’s blessed.

Then she was gone.

And he grieved nights on end;

‘Til that one time,

He just gave it all up,

Got his pillow and blanket,

And drove out to see her –

To lay beside her –

To tell her his problems –

To hear again that fiddle-de-dee,

If only in his head.

The kids all say

Come on home, pop;

Sleep in your own soft bed.

But he would sigh knowing,

That here, with her,

Was the only place he would ever

Be able to close his eyes and

Rest in peace.

©PJCampbell