When the oak fell in the storm
he carved a bench for her.
He placed it in the best grove shade as
a reminder the bench once bloomed.
Still, rays of light split through the leaves
and the bench, even in winter, was warm.
Here she knew fully his silent love for her,
even after he fallen silent, buried nearby.
Eventually, it became mostly a place to rest
her weight and feel his in this crafted thing.
One day the world became loud
and she fell quiet in the ringing air.
A crafted letter from her was found
placed neatly on his dusty workbench.
“You are gone, my love.
One day, I will be gone.
Even our bench will rot and
crumble onto your grave.
But fear not, my love.
I will come back.
My ashes will kiss yours, and once
more, everything you created for me.”