Sophie stands on walking sticks, hobbles with uncertain gait,
She's sent her carer on for tea, told her t'was no need to wait.
And as the twilight shadows whisper, evening light is laced with night,
Then she hears a soft voice calling, softer than the fading light.
Sophie turns her hearing aid, to full volume, lest she misses,
A litany of lover's promise, hints of tender loving kisses.
Sophie smiles and picks up sticks, gentle in the winter gloaming,
Feels her heart beat pitter-pat, as she goes a midnight roaming.
They find her in the dawn's grey light, hypothermia, the coroner said,
But in her room a faded picture has pride of place beside her bed.
And in the cloudy Feb'ry sunset, golden light begins to shine,
And a flock of swallows whisper, Sophie's found her Valentine.
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved