George and Anne

There was a man named George,
And he had a wife named Anne,
She was the sweetest old woman,
And he was the cutest old man,

There were so truly in love,
And had been married for fifty years,
But Anne was told she was ill,
And love was broken with tears,

As she grew older,
Her illness grew increasingly strong,
Hand as her birthday grew close,
She knew she didn't have long,

She was so excited,
Because eighty she'd finally be,
But little did she know,
Seventy nine is all she would see,

Cancer took her away,
Heaven was her dreams end,
But everyone who mourned her,
Knew she was a gods send,

Five years later exactly,
George was on his death bed,
Old age was an excuse,
A broken heart was what his face read,

He kept living with her,
Everyday he spoke of his wife,
Even though no one could see her,
She still was in his life,

It was the eve of her birthday,
And George couldn't help but cry,
He soon would say hello to one,
But to so many he'd say good bye,

He soon would meet her in heaven,
And rest in a pain free land,
So as he spoke his last words,
He reached for his family's hand,

He said, I love you all to pieces,
In every single way,
But now I can finally wish,
Anne a happy birthday.