Every year in the spring.
His dear wife admired them greatly,
As he planted, he'd whistle and sing.
She'd sit on the front porch,
And watch him, through eyes full of
Love and of care,
They'd lived many good years together,
And their love just grew sweeter each year.
But still, he planted her flowers,
And watched them grow day after day.
But he was becoming a stranger, Someone, his dear wife did not know,
Alzheimers, was claiming her darling, And soon to a home he must go.
She cries for the man she once knew,
The man, who once held her and loved her, Wondering, if he misses her too.
For sometimes, when she bends to kiss him, Teardrops, stream down his face,
And she holds him, as they cry together,
In a heart wrenching, loving embrace.
And that, when her life is over,
Hand in hand in God's garden they'll stroll.
Once more, he will plant her some flowers,
And she'll hear him whistle and sing,
When, all of their trials are over,
They'll be together, forever, again.
Jeannette E. Smith
June 13, 2002
