chantelle ribeiro Poems
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The Old Man On A Bench...
An old man on a withered bench
Down by the ocean's end
Staring at the stormy sky
wondering if she's there up high
watching him sit in their favorite spot
where he wrote - forget me not...
'Here is the bench where we would sit
you and I a perfect fit'
He whispers softly to the wind
and wishes she would hear
how he misses her
or wipe the tear
that silently creeps down his face
as he remembers a time and place
Her lively eyes
Her soft grey hair
Memories so bitter-sweet
are all he has of her
And in his gnarled old hand
he lovingly holds her ...
Winter is here, my love
Cold and bleak like
the tempest brewing inside my being
Uncertainty and fear envelopes me
Loneliness and melancholy
reminds me of my human fragility
And I, a slave of love's cruelty
seeks the shelter of your arms
to silence the thunder in my heart
to protect me from life's storms