I stare out through rippled glass
Across and past the front porch swing
And sometimes my reflection
It just stares me down
Some mornings we don't recognize each other
Other days we're sad old friends
Not a word will pass between us
Yet we understand.
Just like the Mrs. and me
Just like she and I used to be
Just like Abigail Brewer Riggley
She used to wake up early every morning
Make a cup of tea and go outside
And I would watch her from this window
I would write it all down
Painting portrait after portrait with my words
Of the Mrs. at tea
Just as she used to be
Just like Abigail Brewer Riggley
I lost the old girl nearly four years back
And now I'm lonely in our home
I make do with my reflection
An old and spotted man
Whom I once knew
To look frantically for note pads
Never far out of reach
And write down all the comings and goings
Outside the rippled glass
Across the front porch swing
Where the Mrs. and me
Held hands indefinitely
Me and my sweet Abigail Riggley
On Six Strings & a Story:
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