He sits alone with news paper in hand,
he looks as though an average old man.
Little do you know he sits alone not by choice,
but by necessity.
For the chair across from him
used to seat his wife,
a lovely woman with kind eyes.
Holding hands at the table,
small gestures and a connection so strong
it radiated through the air
like some smooth sweet jazz
the love was sympathetically felt throughout the room.
He clutches that news paper now
because she is not there
and the loving hand that used to embrace his
is no longer there.
The cancer overtook her
before it could take him
and now he awaits the time when he can see her again.
Still every Sunday he comes into my work
And orders coffee just like they used to.
Just like they will again, someday soon.