Often, when she dusted, she would change The placing of a picture or a chair And wait his grave consideration, hoping He would say: "Yes, it's better, there." He said she had a way of bringing beauty To the barest place; and however much Of loveliness a room might claim, it gained In warmth and sweetness, from her tender touch. But now ... she hasn't made a change in months -- Each chair and book keeps its accustomed place; For she has left only the echo of his words, Only a memory of his face. Perhaps she errs, but who is there to say? For time and time again, she breathes a prayer That soon she'll see his smile and hear him say That Heaven is lovelier, because she's there. |