You were both home at night,
The only smiles were on the two boys and one girl.
I thought there were five people in this house.
Separate bedrooms,
Separate meals,
Separate holidays,
Separate lives.
The only thing you share is a roof and the love of your children.
For better or for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish;
from that day forward,
until death do you part.
It’s been 33 years,
You loved her,
She loved you.
You told us it was better this way.
Some pasts are not a sight for sore eyes,
stitched up like an old teddy bear.
My brothers and I slept together,
three blankets, three little bodies, three far away dreams,
one bed, one night light, one wish.
One shooting star too short.
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