The Widower

The Widower

He struggles to get out of bed
But manages at last
And packs his uniform
To work he goes

Though some might ask what’s in his head
They think his time has passed
He should stay nice and warm
Just take repose

But out into a windy day
And past the rumbling throng
The distance soon is made
Though step unsure

At work, his time has purpose
For at home, he always found
His thoughts would just get lost
In missing her

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