I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day and through
In that small cafe
The park across the way
The children's carousel
The chestnut trees
The wishing well

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

It is a simple stone to honor a piece of Earth.
It asks the passerby a question.
It is a challenge
And a meditation:

“Oh, if a man tried to take his time on Earth
And prove before he died what one man’s life could be worth-
I wonder what would happen to this world.”

Yes Harry, I sometimes wonder too
But few among the living are as generous as you.

I place a smooth simple stone upon his stone
to let him know that he is not forgotten.


Thirty Eight years gone, but not forgotten.

I wasn’t meant to be like this.
I wasn’t born this way.
I started out an optimist,
Not one draped in shades of grey.
But Cynicism settled in
as I reached middle age.
My youthful enthusiasms dimmed
And I sadly turned the page.
I became the man Wilde once described
In “Lady Windermere’s fan”
I didn’t want to be like this,
I trust you understand.
I lost the simple joy of youth;
The innocence and longing.
I know the price of everything
But of their Value, nothing

Breakup *** is oft the best.
That last time you see your Love undressed.
A few last moments to grab for joy.
No time for subtlety or being coy.

I remember it like yesterday,
though forty years have come and gone.
The last time I sampled of your charms
when last I held you in these arms .

The Love triangle I so rued then,
has come to nothing in the end.
We both wed others in Life's comic play
and consigned our Love to yesterday

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
Roberta Flack


The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless skies

The first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hand
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command my love

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time my love

The first time ever I saw your face
Your face, your face

Despair was too simple a word for how he felt.
Despondent didn’t quite do it justice either.
Some men might have knelt to God in prayer,
But the lieutenant was not much of a believer.

He took his service revolver in his hand
and looked one last time at their wedding picture.
Tears might have helped, except he could not cry;
not for himself nor for her blighted future.

He thought of his shield mates; his fellow men in blue,
And the twenty-five years he’d put in on the job.
Anxiety had dogged him on every shift.
In the machine called justice, he’d been just a cog.

He’d left his note upon the kitchen table;
just a simple goodbye, not long on explanation.
He took the barrel between his lips and fired;
By dying he would make his expiation.

El pintor de palabras se recostó con su café
En el viejo y maltratado sillón de color burdeos.
Deseó estar bebiendo borgoña
En una silla de color café, pero los mendigos no pueden elegir.

Ser un pintor de palabras no es tan lucrativo como lo era en el pasado.
Sin embargo, en el lado positivo del libro mayor, nadie era probable
Para pedirle que nade el Hellespont
y arriesgar su vida por la independencia griega.

¿Qué, entonces, debería escribir hoy?
Pensó en ella que una vez había usado su anillo.
Pensó en una niña encantadora, bronceada
Con mechones ***** azabache
y ojos latinos vivos.

Extraño, no había pensado en ella en bastante tiempo.
Bueno, pensó, después de todo, hoy es su cumpleaños.
“Feliz cumpleaños a mi querida Barbara Jeanne.

Me enseñaste lecciones de amor y pérdida
y me dejó con solo el toque de un poeta.