Belle of the ball

By Aisling Dillon- Roberts

 

Belle of the ball

68 and all alone,
her kids had dumped her in a home,
It was harder everyday to force a smile,
Her only pleasure was thinking of him for a while,

He would make her laugh when she was stressed,
He would iron her clothes before he got dressed,
and he would dance with her down the hall,
‘anything for the belle of the ball’

Laughter would fill every room,
Every day their love would bloom,
At night in bed he would call,
‘Goodnight my belle of the ball’

As days turned into months the laughter would stop,
He couldn’t let out a sentence without breaking into a cough,
He would brush it off as having something in his throat,
Still she forced him to wear an extra coat,

Then one day she answered the phone,
‘miss I have some news’ said a man his voice monotone.
‘Your husband was hospitalised, undiagnosed cancer’
‘would you like a moment ma’am’ she didn’t answer,

‘That’s impossible, he is only 54,’
‘Ma’am I am sorry to say your husband is no more’
‘In his last moments he stood up tall
And whispered ‘I will always love the belle of the ball.’

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