Mending

I can giggle, I can sing,

or line dance to a tune,

enjoy a play or tasty meal,

or family fun with lakeside view.

Feel whole beside the foaming sea

where sea gulls sore and waves allure.

At end of day, to home I go,

to silent house, no warm ‘hello.’

No listening ear to hear my tales,

just a photo – deaf and dumb.

The emptiness grows like a cancerous hole,

I take out my pen; a new founded friend,

a book where I write, remember and weep.

The hole in my heart – begins slowly mending.