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by Jane Lang 

It’s early, not five am and I sit at the breakfast 
table with my first cup of morning-coffee, idly 
look over the crossword puzzle, and reflect 
on his insistent, plaintive question, 

“Babe, can you love me like this?” The need 
for more mobility than his two legs allowed 
rolling over etched paths of my tears across  
these hardwood floors – a slow, shuffling, 
repetitive gait,  
thud...scrape, thud...scrape, thud...scrape 

As sometimes happens, ours was the miracle of  
love newly-found in what was referred to as 
the Golden years, more aptly it was ordained,  
kismet, destined – two paths crossing at the  
intersection of Act III, Scene Four 
“Babe, can you love me like this?” YES!  
Yes! Come back for one more month, one more  
week, one more day, one more hour, a minute.  
Darkness and while final curtain drops...fade  
to coffee cup, breakfast table, crossword puzzle

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