Poem Hunter
Who Promised
(04 October 1943 / Germany)

Who Promised

Poem By Herbert Nehrlich

I'll see you, was the sound she heard
when death came without mercy in the night,
and all was dark, there was no sign of light,
no shadow of the hoped for silver lining.
The tunnel led to outer space, in a straight line
ascending swiftly, through forces unknown.

She'd known of course, signs had been there
for quite some time, though it was not,
as others had assured her, a sweet serenade
oh no, dear friends, she did not miss your grins,
smirks of relief, that day the focus would be hers.

That night she did appear to him, who sat and read,
while laughing now and then, she had been right,
Sacks was to him a new companion, male at that
and it was really all he had, now she had gone.
The clock, its dancing gnomes alive, in Loden green,
announced the hour, it was late, time to be sad.

She, a million miles away, she spent her time
to keep the places tidy, helped the others out,
and listened to the never-ending stories every night
of lives that never had been lived despite those years,
of humans that were skin and bones, but had no flesh,
and one could hear the hollowness inside, she too was sad.

She'd promised, though words were never heard,
and they were fine without convention or veneer,
she liked the views up there which reached so very far,
and on their special days she'd peek and wear a smile,
at his great earnestness and how he carried on.
Twice, right at first, she felt a chill and shed a tear.

The leap year came and he walked home and drove a nail
into the frame above her door to hang it there,
a bunch of numbers and predictions for the time;
calendars had been her thing, she was the first in late July.

He marked important dates in blue, when tax was due,
a dozen birthdays and the special one in pretty pink
and then he slept with her last pillow, navy blue,
that night it was his time, and peacefully he died.

She waited there, all groomed and filled with joy,
she'd fix his pallor, she would show her man around,
and when he woke she took the hand of her dear boy
they walked away tuned in to music without sound.

She brought it up as it had troubled her good mind,
it was the taste he never liked of those ground nuts,
made into butter it would nauseate in-kind,
then there were cigs for those who loved their blood and guts.

He drew her close so that their cheeks could re-unite,
sweetheart you watched me do my duty from above,
(he gave a nibble to her ear and a small bite)
there is for us a single word and that spells LOVE.

And from the depth of Heaven's forests they could hear,
the sounds of Figaro, they stood, there in the sun
it was a marriage made in Heaven, a nadir
between two spirits who had seen it all and won.

To CR, whose only fault is a love of peanut butter.

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Comments (1)

You ol' sentimental sweetheart, you! Love this, Herbert. I like the syncopated rhyme. It works here. Thanks for sharing.