He tightly
held on to her hand & as she lay dying,
Words choked
them both, the two of them crying,
They spoke of
memories & their long lives shared,
Since they
were kids, they´d been spliced & paired.
“Oh dear,”
said he & lamented, “What am I to do?
When you´re
gone I´ll be lost & that´s so very true,”
She smiled at
him & patted his old age mottled hand,
“You’ll be
fine; just don’t bury your head in the sand.”
He frowned
& fretted, he prayed & he softly petted,
While she lay
wan & limp, but her hubby she vetted,
Knowing there
was something that he wanted to say,
But not
wanting to worry her before she went away.
“What is it
that worries you so?” one day she queried,
But he shook
his old grey head, now grizzled & wearied,
And he
answered saying, I´m sorry & it seems so very trite,
But I don´t
know the button for hot, cold, colours & whites.
She smiled,
then laughed her illness to the edge of the bed,
Tears ran
down her pale cheeks & she shook her white head,
“Are you really
worried & referring to the washing machine?”
“Yes, when you´re
gone I won´t know how to get my clothes clean”.
All through their
marriage, they had worked well in their way,
She had kept tidy
their home while he had worked out & away,
And now she was
ill & was going, leaving him all on his own,
He felt lost &
alone, didn’t know how to begin keeping a home.
“You´ll be fine,
just as long as you leave the button set to four,
Leave it on four,
It´ll wash it all clean & you´ll never need more,
On four, your
smalls will never shrink & your colours won´t run,
One button, one
life, don´t complicate life pet, now go & have fun.”
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