In Loving Memory

It was a little bit past seven
    when I walked into his room;
the lights were off, the drapes were pulled,
    it looked more like a tomb
    than the “home” of my beloved.
            But here is where he waited.

What I could not understand
    is why he would be here
and not at home at rest with me
    where I could hold him near.
                But this is where he waited.

Oh, they knew him at the hospice,
    at least, they knew his name,
but I was his “compadrè”,
    their love was not the same.
                Yet here is where he waited.

I opened up the curtains to let some daylight in,
    he sat up, looked at me,
    then said with a grin, “Mì Compadrè!”
    His voice sounded so thin,
                so tired of waiting.

He motioned me on over,
    so I sat down by his side,
    took his hand, stroked his hair,
    and held him as he died.
                He no longer waited.

= = = = = = =

It’s been two years since that day.
    Today I went back to his grave
        to return a treasure to my love,
        one I thought I’d always save.

“I’ve come to say good-bye, sweet Mitchel.”
    The words fell from my lips
        as the ring he always wore for me
        fell from my fingertips.

I knelt one last time
        and placed a rose beside the stone.

Then, with tears streaming down my face
    I wished for one last long embrace
    and was glad I was with him in that place
    the day the angels stopped their waiting,
                and took sweet Mitchel home.