THE LAST DAY OF 1948

It was the Last Day.

It was that last day, beneath leaky roof of Old Drew’s Place. Under the morose sky that opened and dispelled woeful sorrows, its tears striking my open eyes; I am blinded. Yet there you stood, divine messenger of God, an angel cocooned in white lace perfect drapes. A riveting sight in the unseeing storm. As you stepped out into waning rain into feeble streams of unclothed sunlight, you looked to me with eyes a stormy deep blue, gifted a smile, and disappeared into emerging crowd.

The Last Day of 1948, and I’ll remember. I’ll receive a gift when the sky will glower and clouds hid the sun. When rain began to fall; how you breathed your spirit into my unworthy lungs on that very last day of 1948.