I lived with my beloved,
for most of my life.
Before he came
I was of a sorrowful disposition.
But he brightened my day
like no other could.
With him I had six children,
six fine boys,
and though I longed
for a little girl,
I never complained.
Not once.
Then war called upon him
and he left me long.
I spent long nights weeping
over my loss,
for though he was not gone,
he strong presence was.
He came back
after bullets pierced him twice.
He was sound and well,
the boys were growing,
and we were happy;
all was well.
As years passed,
children came and went,
but we stayed strong
through it all,
always staying
together.
When we were older
with kin aplenty
my once strong body
withered.
I could no longer be with him,
together.
Though we saw each other
every single day
it was not the same.
My beloved and I were separated.
By that time I was no longer
able to contain anything
I did not get better
and we stayed apart.
This seemed to have affected him
more than me.
It was up to the doctors to
take him under their wings.
Though our sons worried,
and it seemed as though we would fail,
we stayed strong,
me and my beloved.
It seemed that all
would soon be well.
It was, for a while.
My beloved was reunited with me.
We were happy
though we took care not to show
how our separation
had nearly destroyed us.
However, it seemed
that staying apart had
kept us stronger
only for a time.
His body is failing him.
We must fight for our lives.
I wonder why,
though we stayed together for so long,
our health kept us apart
and we never got better.
Why is it He
is fighting to take my beloved away
forever. Why?