Memories of the Painter

She holds him close, as he sleeps,

Fearful in the morning; he will not speak.

His mind is sore, his body is tired.

 

She kisses his forehead, then his cheek

She worries so much, he does not understand;

She doesn’t mind – she loves him so.

 

He continues to paint,

Paint only her; even on days

When he knows not even his name.

 

His memory though weak,

His love is still strong;

Her eyes water as he grasps her hand.

“I love you my dear,”

 

She smiles again,

He could brush a smile onto a canvas,

He could imagine the world in many colors;

It was his only his voice, his touch & his love

That could paint her world; the brightest of all colors.

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