I've taken to walking once more,
And Mary strolls along side.
She is always there, as before -
It was but her body that died.


Although my sweet Mary is near,
With me now, on each daily walk,
Her replies I no longer hear,
But, to her, I frequently talk.


At familiar spots, we will stand,
Recalling other times we've known,
And I pretend I feel her hand
Still softly squeezing on my own.


Together for fifty-three years,
Lives and memories fused as one.
This cherished gift rates no more tears -
We have had a wonderful run.


No longer I'll feel dread of death,
For I have come to understand
That when I breathe my final breath,
Mary will lead me hand in hand.

© By RickMack (rmrickmack@aol.com)