only to arrive in a long-forgotten memory.
I saw his bearded face before me,
bright-eyed and young in those days.
When I knew enough of life to appreciate him fully,
I looked into his eyes, edged by laugh lines,
I looked into his eyes, edged by laugh lines,
and I smiled, and they smiled back.
I reached my hand out to him,
and he took it,
offering his heart as his greatest gift.
The crow's feet around his eyes were no longer
the only lines on his face.
But still I loved him and showed him,
still he loved me and showed me.
I reached my hand out to him,
and he took it,
gracefully accepting the support I offered.
The early signs of age vanished gradually
amidst a crowd of wrinkles,
and his eyes smiled no more.
I saw this and my heart ached,
but he didn't want me to see
him limp with the effort of depression.
I reached my hand out to him,
but he turned his face away.
I bowed my head and let the tears of rejection
seep from beneath my lashes.
But my hand never fell - still I reached.
I awoke with moist cheeks,
the ghost of my dream still fresh in my mind.
I saw him even as I lay
in consciousness, remembering
the remnants of my lost love.
I reached my hand out to him,
but his shifting form
wavered, then disappeared,
leaving me to sink again into restless slumber.
But my hand never falls - still I reach.