The watch in his waistcoat pocket
Kept time as he stepped his way home
His wife of some 50 years fingered her rosary
Praying a safe return.
The poet in us imagines voices
That once were real
Writes words for those who no longer speak.
Words, should no longer be strangers.
A comfort to those who mourn passing.
Hollow only was the chair in which you sat.
(c) Chris Black 2017.