to all the spring mornings and cats that we knew
to the pale sky at dawn and our feet damp with dew
to fantasies drifting from cherry-red lips
you have been loved, you will be missed
to the days we spent chasing the cars in our eyes
to the wolves in our heads that we brought to life
to the crab-apple trees and the morning mist
you have been loved, you will be missed
YOU ARE READING
where the roads don't go
Poetryin·tro·spec·tion noun \ˌin-trə-ˈspek-shən\ : the process of examining your own thoughts or feelings
