Fifty Winters Deep

November came quiet, but heavy with fate

Doctors spoke gently, but time wouldn't wait

Her words slipped away like leaves in the breeze

And still every morning, she fought to be seen

He helped her to stand when her legs wouldn't try

Washed her with hands that had weathered the sky

She'd smile through the fear, though her body betrayed

She was still there, each day that she stayed

Fifty winters deep

And still he stood,

In the hush of pain,

He did all he could

With trembling hands,

He sowed what love keeps—

The kind that grows

Fifty winters deep

She wasn't afraid of where she would go

But how she would leave—what she couldn't know

And he saw it all—the stumbles, the storms

But never once flinched from the shape she'd transformed

Tantrums and laughter, the mess and the grace

He kissed her good morning, he wiped down her face

He stayed through it all, through the grief and the gold

The truest of stories are the quiet ones told

Fifty winters deep

And still he stayed

In the fading light

He was never afraid

Through broken hours

And restless sleep

Love held its vow

Fifty winters deep

There's a kind of love that doesn't need light

That doesn't fade when the world says goodnight

That walks through fire with shaking knees

And still bends down, so the other can breathe

Fifty winters deep

Like rings in the wood

He bore the years

Exactly as he should

And when she passed

He didn't weep

He simply whispered:

"Fifty winters deep"

He simply whispered:

"Fifty winters deep"