For the Sunday Whirl wordle:Many called him vain when he was a younger man, broad of shoulder, always dressed to the nines, tie in a perfect knot, shirts starched crisp, shoes shined. Truth was, she liked him in his suits. He did it for her. Today, he looked much like many other old men, surface of his skin dotted with marks of age, yet still dressing with care every day; younger men think it a spectacle, he does it for her. Early each morning finds him kneeling at the alter, stopping to contemplate life, death and what comes after; his minds eye watching again the film of his life – it stops always, when he watched her reel and fall. He would allow no tears once he left the chapel, Sorrow he would keep in the depth of his heart, Forcing it dormant and willing a smile. He does it for her. Today, like every other day, he will arrive at nine, Sit by her side, hold her hand, stroke her hair, and wait patiently, reluctantly, for her life’s resolution.