I want to be a widower.
I want to be the one
Who puts you in the ground,
And listens to a minister's words
At graveside.
I don't want you to be the one
To see crying children, or grandchildren,
To lean on the shoulder of our oldest son
And drown his shirt with weeping.
I don't want you to face the empty side of the bed
That you were so accustomed to share
For twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years.
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