Angel on a Bench

One, for each year you've been gone, Sixty, since we met, right here, Funny how times seems so long, Filled with Sixty years of cheer. (what I would see in his face)

Kindness is a type of language,
That the deaf can hear and understand,
So filled with Love, no one can gauge,
A Blind man can see a helping hand.

Alone, with love-lost bosom,
On a cold, and dreary day,
Clinging to a frozen blossom,
'Why did God take her away?'

No one knows his story,
They wouldn't understand,
His heart, like hair, quite hoary,
Sixty years, walking hand in hand.

Someday soon, he'll find her,
Waiting at the gate,
Of their home in the heather,
Two blocks, from God's estate.

So, should you see this stranger,
Sitting lonely on Park bench seat,
He'd appreciate a warm manger,
To him, you'd be an Angel, most complete.

Please give to God, the credit,
To this man, and your question, why,
Remembering you seldom edit,
Your attitude of being shy.

To Him you be an Angel,
To you, he may be one too,
God works many an angle,
To read your heart, how true.

AMEN