Seashell and Driftwood

He was a content old man
Face lined like driftwood
Whiskers and woolen
Smelling of tobacco, tea, and whisky
A quiet home, a steady fire
A habit of reading and walking

His company was kept
Over pints at the pub
And on long evening strolls
Along the shoreline
In conversation with the Sea.

She was a content old woman
Face smooth and lined as a seashell
Glasses and leather boots
Smelling of bread, wool
And gentle perfume
A solitary homemaker
Baking, creating, and caring.

Her company was kept
Over tea by the hearth
Knitting and chatting
And morning strolls
Along the shoreline
In conversation with the Sea.

One day, their paths crossed
They spoke with each other
While the Sea listened.

Their paths began crossing
Until they walked together
Every day
Leaving the Sea to watch
As their steps fell in stride
And their stories were shared

They were old
And content
White haired,
With stiff fingers
And failing eyes
And long-worn habits

And the Sea watched
As they began sharing
The hearth, the whisky, and tea
As she made him a new hat
And he gave her books
And they walked in stride.

They were old
And understood time
And walked hand in hand
And breathed together.

They were old
And the Sea watched
As they loved each other
Laughing and sighing
With them as they strolled

They were old
And the day came
When they stopped breathing
Minutes apart
Under a warm blanket she had made
By the warm fire he had built.

The Sea knew
And she took their souls
Hand in hand
As they sighed from their bodies
And placed them on her shore
In the driftwood and seashells
Together evermore.

 

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This entry was posted in creative, loss, love, Poem, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Seashell and Driftwood

  1. Pai says:

    very peaceful Ca,,almost like you’ve been old youself..Pai

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