The man stood motionless,
His soft breaths created clouds of mist in the cold.
He waited silently by the gravestone,
Waiting patiently in the cold air of December.
He stood there, waiting for her to appear from the mist.
The man did not know what he was waiting for.
He didn’t know why he was here, or why he was so still,
He just wanted her to come, so he could hear her speak.
The man waited, and he waited, and he waited,
He did not want to move, to risk losing her again.
The wind was cold, and the ground was hard, but he stayed put,
He waited for his angel to appear from the mist,
The man did not know that she was not there,
The man had not heard the sound of the church door closing,
The man did not know that she would never appear.