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An Age Taken Beauty

Two letters etched into the wood,
Crudely carved just above mine,
Glistening with the dew of the early morning rain,
Two elderly fingers run them over,
Feeling not the texture but the emotion packed into them,
The hand slowly brushes down the base of the oak,
Patting a softer soil,
Touching gently on the marble,
Wiping the water droplets as he did her tears a long time ago,
Pushing the grasses back as he did her hair a long time ago,
And again putting his fingers on the initials as he did on her lips a long time ago…
A long time ago indeed.



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