[Stefano]: 26.Poetry.In Loving Memory

It was a little bit past seven when I walked into his room.
The lights were off, the drapes were pulled,
It looked more like a tomb than the "home" of my beloved.
But here is where he waited.

What I could not understand is why he should be here
And not at home at rest with me
Where I could hold him near.
But this is where he waited.

Oh, they knew him at the hospice,
At least, they knew his name.
But I was his "compadrè", their love was not the same.
Yet here is where he waited.

I opened up the curtains to let some daylight in,
He sat up, looked at me,
Then said with a grin, "Mì Compadrè!"
His voice sounded so thin, so tired of waiting.

He motioned me on over, so I sat down by his side.
Took his hand, stroked his hair,
And held him as he died.
He no longer waited.

= = = = = = =

It's been two years since that day.
Today I went back to his grave
To return a treasure to my love,
One I thought I'd always save.

"I've come to say good-bye, sweet Mitchel."
The words fell from my lips
As the ring he always wore for me
Fell from my fingertips.

I knelt one last time and placed a rose beside the stone.

Then, with tears streaming down my face
I wished for one last long embrace
And was glad I was with him in that place
The day the angels stopped their waiting,
And took sweet Mitchel home.