This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
Upon reflection 4, 5, and 6 Of February oh five Were hard, hard days. Four years on For me it’s not the sixth That the deepest cuts. No it is the fifth. At Death on the sixth Peta-Ann held her hand. For me, No, for us two, the end Was at 4 pm on the fifth. If a bookend marked birth, When ever the last breath, It’d be t’other bookend. Tween the two – her life. On the fifth as I left, Just as on all days shared, Never just a “Good-bye” but “I love you lots.” Now on reflection it was My real “Good-bye” to her, And hers to me as always “I love you too.” From such brief But deep-felt whispers The bookend that closed Her life and Ours, was made. I only knew it on the sixth. And Yes, it was a hard, hard day. But it was crowded with people Family and friends one and all. When the day of Death died I sat alone in the dark. And realised that life Without her had now begun. So as each year comes round On the fifth I sit where I can see,
Albeit dimly in the twilight, Photos of her smiling face. And each year on the fifth, Yes fifth not sixth, I recall What was our final kiss, And “I love you too.” Sleep on my sweet Atop the gorge you chose, And we’ll meet again. I still love you lots.