A Lifetime of Walks Along the Seashore

The old couple walked along the shore,
holding hands, feet sinking in wet sand,
as they’d done so many times before,
looking quite vibrant; both were well tanned.

Passers-by thought them happy and carefree,
but they shared a secret that’d change their world.
It’d wash over them like the mighty sea,
unstoppable as the tide that at their feet swirled.

Cancer! The doctor told her to enjoy what time
she had left to live, get her affairs in order.
Her having only months to live seemed such a crime.
There was no escape. Too soon she’d cross the border

between this world and the next. He couldn’t stop
or delay it. She accepted this better than he.
Did she want to travel? Go to Paris to shop?
No, she wanted normalcy, to take walks by the sea.

The weeks flew by. Then she grew too weak
to walk by the seashore anymore.
They’d lie in bed. He would stroke her cheek,
from his heart his emotions would pour.

She died on a Sunday, asleep in his caress.
At her funeral people told him he’d adjust,
losing a wife of sixty-two years would depress
any man, and his staying active was a must.

It was too painful to walk alone at her shore.
He quit going to the sea; the sea belonged to her.
He moved away to the mountaintop, where he swore
he felt closer to Heaven, ’til death did occur.

He died in his sleep in little less than a year.
Some say it was old age; most say a broken heart.
He’d told all to shed nary a tear as death drew near,
for he and his sweet wife would no longer be apart.