The last hour begins to near, Coming so quick and fast. Just when it’s beginning, Soon it is the last.
The blare of the alarm clock; Light breaking the windowsill. Slowly begins to weaken A strong and determined will.
The shoes and coat go on. A glass of water to drink. The suitcase by the door; An aching heart starts to sink.
Fighting tears, a hug is now, And strength starts to cower. As the door closes behind him, Tears fall in the last hour.
Written: by Renee Blare, Winter 1989 In dedication to my husband, James.
History of Poem:
This poem was written in the early days of our marriage. My husband worked out of town. In the winter, we saw each other every other weekend for eighteen hours. He came home to wash his clothes, sleep, and pack again. Oh, and see me!
We lived in Casper. James worked in Green River and Laramie. He went to class in Sundance on the other weekend as a part of his apprenticeship program. If he had time, he’d pop in and …