Holding Hands

A timeless couple, well-clear of four score,

Far beyond caring for all but each other,

Out in the crisp of a clear Sunday morning,

Saunter the sidewalks as one, holding hands.

 

“They’ve been a twosome since Christ was a corporal”,

Says Cassie with confidence like an old friend.

“Childhood sweethearts, coupled for life.”

I smiled, then went back to my coffee and book.

 

“How do you know that?” my left hand remarked.

“We talked in the park a few times,” she replied.

“Children all gone, moved away, some have died.

All they have is each other; sad but sweet.”

 

He was a soldier in some foreign hell-hole, while

She wrote him letters and prayed his return,

Swearing to cling to him now and always as he

Came limping back to her, shrapnel and all.

 

He’s slowing down these days, little by little.

She has to wait as he catches his wind.

Moving still closer, patting a shoulder,

Waiting and comforting, holding his hand.

 

“That’s what I want,” Cassie sighs in a whisper.

“They’ve seen so much, had so much in their time.”

Now, in their winter, to live in the mem’ry of

Strolling a lifetime as one

Holding hands.