By side of old lamp post he sat
And watched the milling crowd,
He smiled at sight of alley cat
And passing traffic loud.
‘Twas long ago he’d been right there
And hastened on his way,
A man like him he’d had no care
Or gave the time of day.
But cares of life with constant stress
And his pursuit of gold
Had turned to drink, ‘till lovely Bess
Saw youthful dream unfold.
With wistful thought for former years
Returned to parent’s home
And with her might and many tears
Succeeded all alone.
To corporate heights she slowly went
But memories would intrude,
She spurned desire of many a gent
No other she’d include.
Then one day as she hurried past
She saw by old lamp post
Her Will; she stopped and stood aghast
At sight of husband’s ghost.
With outreached hand he rose to beg,
She thought her heart would break,
His tattered pants hung from his leg
His outstretched arm did shake.
That evening after work she came
To take him to a place
Where alcoholics detox there
To save them from disgrace.
With slow retreat from long years fog
He recognized his Bess,
Determined to regain her trust
He longed for her caress.
Addiction conquered, Will did vow
Became a brand new man,
No longer demon drink he’d bow,
When tempted quickly ran.
Bess watched it all with eager hope
Each victory he would
Till quite convinced resolve would cope
Their marriage vows renewed.
“© Copyright Ian Grice 2015 All rights reserved”
The above image copyrighted to dreamtime.com
ianscyberspace 
I simply love this, Ian – the way you weaved your words, the story line and the theme.
Great hopes of love and redemption. It happens but rarely but when it does – what a sun burst in not only their lives but in all the people who know them or will come to know of them.
Glad that I dug into your archives.
Peace,
Eric
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Thank you so much! 🙂
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This poem has many of the iancyberspace trademarks and was pleasing to read. I enjoyed the happy conclusion which could be an inspiration to some although I wonder how often such a transformative reversal actually happens?
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Jane I’d venture to say it would be an extremely rare occurrence. In the back of her mind would always be the fear of regression. You would have to be a saint to rescue and nurture like that.
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oh were it only so simple as this. Lovely poem, lovely story spun.
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Yes it would be an unusual risk to take with someone gone that far down the road to self-destruction Val. But occasionally you do hear of situations like this where that risk was taken and the results happy ones.
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