It is February again.
It was February years ago that I hid.
I hid and I climbed out again in the spring.
We wrote songs. We shared songs.
You weren't a ghost then
and I didn't know at the time you would become one.
I tied my hair back to tune my guitar
and you said you liked how my neck looked exposed.
You are a ghost now, and it is February again.
But thank you for the songs I wrote when it was February then.
They are still favorites of mine.