Poem Photo.tiff

It's minuscule moments that matter the most,

When you poured our coffee, I buttered your toast.

You picked out the movie, I waited in line,

Phone calls declared it's estate sale time.

Our families together, hymnals held high,

Counting our blessings as seasons rolled by.

Elbow to elbow when social clubs met,

You getting there first was a hand winning-bet.

We flattered each other over glasses of wine,

As wrinkles and graying showed signs of decline,

Then all of a sudden, you didn't know me.

You could not remember how we use to be.

In a flash, your stroke made us strangers that day,

We longed for you back, you just couldn't stay.

It's minuscule moments that matter the most,

When you poured our coffee, and I buttered the toast.

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