Pain

He stood beside her bed,
faithful to this bride of his,
who once had been so beautiful
walking down the aisle
to him.
Half a century or more had passed,
but love not.
Bearing the wounds of age,
he could see what time had done,
but held himself to the vow
which had not turned grey,
which had never worn thin.
He bent down to the bed
where she lay, unknowing,
as he grimaced at the sharp protest
of his unwilling back,
bent over nonetheless
to kiss her cheek,
to offer her
this pain, this gift.


--Timothy Haut, Feb. 12, 2016