Words spoken we feared would come
to spill out from old rusty speakers.
We never thought this day would come,
we always knew this day would come;
we did it to ourselves, and we knew it.
Words spoken, hurried tones to loved ones
for they will be the last words from our lips.
We stood and sat as the day moved along;
a last dose of intimacy between the two of us.
The record player sits still waiting for the album,
yet we cannot decide what will be the last song.
We play them all for the rest of the day waiting;
then a song starts to play we both love and
A flutter, notes vibrate
and he takes your hand.
A feeling, two alone
and dancing hand to hand.
A flood: emotions,
and you know
his hand is the hand for your heart.
Another new day, another war ends.
Out with the old, in with the swing.
Another candle burns down, spills;
electric lights would spoil the mood.
Another flapper dress bounces,
someone else does the dancing;
I’m sitting at home, cool as a cat,
relaxing in my fine haberdashery.
I’m waiting for no one, just the cat.
Another cloud bursts, like his heart,
when someone shot him a year ago.
Another dead soldier for the cause,
though I wonder if it was worth it.
Another set of thoughts race by,
as the emotions of widowed bliss
set in, consume the atmosphere,
keep the cat from venturing over.
Another record to spin, as I dance
with his pillow to our joyful song.