I stare out through rippled glass
Across and past the front porch swing
And sometimes my reflection
It just stares me down
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Some mornings we don't recognize each other
Other days we're sad old friends
Not a word will pass between us
Yet we understand.
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Just like the Mrs. and me
Just like she and I used to be
Just like Abigail Brewer Riggley
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She used to wake up early every morning
Make a cup of tea and go outside
And I would watch her from this window
I would write it all down
Painting portrait after portrait with my words
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Of the Mrs. at tea
Just as she used to be
Just like Abigail Brewer Riggley
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I lost the old girl nearly four years back
And now I'm lonely in our home
I make do with my reflection
An old and spotted man
Whom I once knew
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To look frantically for note pads
Never far out of reach
And write down all the comings and goings
Outside the rippled glass
Across the front porch swing
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Where the Mrs. and me
Held hands indefinitely
Me and my sweet Abigail Riggley
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On Six Strings & a Story:
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On The Riggley Road Stories
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