She sits in her swing
With the empty cushion
Her only company
There used to be
An imprint

She hadn’t always been
But when she wasn’t
The sky wasn’t as blue
It held a milder hue

A gentle smile
A kind hand
Though she’s lost
Her best friend

I grew up ever so close
Three houses down
I visited their home
They were closer than
My grandparents to me

When grandpa passed
I knew the expected
But I wasn’t sad
I was for Mr. Jim

Miss Rose still had
Time to live
She needed me
To be her friend
So I did.
I became her friend.


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