by John Smallshaw
I trace my finger lightly down her skin
Wrinkled now, wearing thin.
And mine like leather on the easy chair
Upon which we sit and often share a loving kiss.
I look into her deep brown eyes
where a milky cataract avidly vies for her remaining sight..
and I see the slight young girl..I saw so many years ago.
Then I know why I love her so.
Together we have grown..
known so much joy
Yet I am still a little boy
who will run and hide
When she decides to scold and chide.
Then lovingly she gives a hug
A mug of tea