Your husband was a great man, Miss.
Built bridges while you stayed home
Knitting and making endless cups of
. Watching from the window for
Your husband to return. But all you
Could see was bridges hanging high

Too high, Miss, your husband always
Felt that you didn’t love him. He was
Right, but that didn’t change anything
As far as I could tell. He was always
So astute with his observations. Precise
With his technical drawings. Surgical

With his love. He was great, missed
Your sons practice sessions regularly
And with little Grace he missed the
Games to eat ice cream. Favourites
Are picked early on and obviously.
But your son still grew to bomb

Bridges. He grew to be great too.
You never heard about it until the
Knock on the door. The tea spilt
Onto the hardwood floor, shame.
Guilt turned your hair grey, Miss
I’m sorry, you could’ve been great.

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