He rocked gently back and forth on his front porch

Listening to the creaking floor boards as they kept pace

With the ping of the raindrops as they dripped from

From the crown of the old oak overhead and danced across

The rusty tin roof covering the open deck

Spring fragrances filled the soft balmy air but the blossoms

On the old lemon tree were the most pronounced and

Still his favorite

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a lemon drop

He carefully unwrapped it and slid it into his mouth

And began to swish it about mixing the sweet and sour flavors

Fifty years, he thought to himself

Had it really been fifty years

He reached back into his pocket and

Felt the tattered edges of the old photograph and

Slowly raised it to his misting eyes

He gazed at Ruby’s soft smile until the tears blurred it out

He closed them for a moment

He felt her hair tickling his chin as they rested against the tree

And her delicate nose nudging his neck as they

Watched the billowing clouds conspire against the azure sky

He heard the soft thud of an over ripe lemon as it hit the ground

And he opened his eyes

Lemons were scattered all about

Yellow freckles on the bright green face of the unkempt lawn

He had kept the vow he made to himself after she left

And never harvested so much as a single lemon from that tree

Such a waste of what might have been

But never was

He sighed and slipped the photograph back into his pocket

And retrieved another lemon drop

He had struggled through another day without her

He got up out of his rocker and as he shuffled to the kitchen

His teardrops kept pace with the ping of the raindrops

As they dripped from the crown of the old oak overhead

And danced across the rusty tin roof covering the open deck

Copyright 2009  Patrick A. Granfors