Take my hand.
I will walk with you
the last miles,
measuring my steps to yours.

When you're weary
we will sit and talk,
and I won't mind
that all you want to speak of
is Daddy, girlhood friends,
whose related to who,

that sometimes
you cut me off mid-
sentence because your hearing's
not so good.

I will handle your treasures carefully
knowing they are more
than mere bells, teacups, photos.

I will do all I can of grocery shopping,
running errands, changing light bulbs,
cleaning closets, setting hair, coming
when you call and praying comfort.

Come. Take my hand.
We will walk the last miles together
into the brilliant sunset you deserve.

By Violet Nesdoly