Visiting a Neighbor

He sits there alone, each summer evening,
In that white wooden rocking chair,
With the empty one right alongside,
Watching the sun sink behind those far hills.
She loved the sunset, he told me one evening.
He is a good man, I know this truly.
You can tell that, just standing near him,
Like feeling the heat from a wood stove.
It's normally sort of awkward to ask questions,
But knowing his peace, I finally spoke of her,
As we watched the sky, just as the blue faded out.
"I don't know" he smiled. "She left so long ago,
You see she wanted things I didn't have,
Or did not understand", he said slowly,
Looking down, eyes closed, seeming older still.
There is still her place at the table.
A dusty nightstand on her side of the bed.
So young she is in the fading pictures.
Her ring still sitting on the mantle,
How it shines when it catches the firelight.
"And do you think she will come back someday?"
"Oh no", he said, "been so long you see,
Perhaps she found the life she wanted,
Or perhaps she simply lost her way out there."
But isn't that so sad or foolish, you might ask,
For this man to love a lifetime without hope?
To us perhaps, but his love is unconditional,
And he tends it each day, a beautiful garden
Which blooms eternally within his soul.