The walking stick

You, my walking stick,

I look at you with awe

A trusted friend and

A selfless aide

For over three decades

Everywhere that I go

You are in my front

Always taking the lead

For me to follow

As I struggle to cross

The busy roads of life

You grip my arm

In secure love, as you

Take me to the other side

When I silently cry

With unshed tears of pain

You stand upright

With compassionate confidence

Making yourself a prop

As I stumble on the ills

Of this life, groping,

You act as my eyes

Making me see what I can’t

I am aging, and so are you

But never leave me

You, my walking stick,

For we are intertwined

With one another

Yes, you my walking stick,

You have a name

And you have a title,

A title called

 ‘wife’