If I were to see
Her golden brown haunches today,
The memories would
Remind me of the way
That she could
Fly over the ground
Like a bird from on high
Until she had found
A place to sit down and sigh.
If I felt
Those short smooth strands,
That seemed as soft as silk
Gliding under my hands
Before they were touched by Age's wilt,
Or that familiar weight
Of her sitting by my side
I'd sit for a second and wait
As I treasured the moment on the inside.
If I smelled
The scent of freshly fallen snow
Or the odor of opening flowers,
My mind would quickly go
And wander back to those short hours,
Where she showed me
The love and devotion of a youth
As we cavorted free
And never saw sign nor symbol of the uncouth.
If I heard
The sonorous sound of her voice
Or her warm, rumbling growl
I would understand our choice
And she would show her love without a single vowel.
I'd know;
Her rest was not in vain.
When her eyes lost their gleam,
Now she wasn't in pain;
She was asleep, perchance to Dream.
When she gave her final breath,
She became young again in the Elysium fields of death.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to the Sun
PoetryAn anthology of my poetry. Some of them are focused on depression, so fair warning.
