Your postcard came today. Only ninety-three years late.
People came to our door, asking where you'd gone.
And "You were so good together," nervous hands touching perfect hair,
You had some place to go, a nd the snowflakes fell.
All that winter was mild, a touch of frost was all we got.
And dad said "Don't you worry"
And mother, to give you time.
But the lonely walk down the drive at noon, white gravel underneath,
Was mine.
People stopped coming, and I made that walk.
And the winters got colder and my father followed their lead.
You remember he would have said, "How'dyoudo?"
All in one word, and that was how he went, all in one word.
And mother said "don't you worry"
And reminded me of frost.
But the lonely walk down the drive at noon, red boots on white feet,
Was mine.
People sang something sad and soft.
And "Just a Closer Walk", tears tracing frowning lines,
You would have added the high harmony lines.
"All that time wasted," the general assent over this descent
And the cold's like something I felt every day
And "there's a sad holiday ahead."
But the lonely walk, down the drive at noon, by men I never knew,
Was mine.
