She walked away on a holiday,
Paris, Milan, Rome then up to St Tropez,
She then jetted off to the India’s for a long well-needed stay.
She never wrote a letter, sent an email or made a call
To say how time was passing,
Or even to tell us that sun had done her well.
She kept a postcard tucked in her bag,
That never touched our eyes,
She was away and a long time she would play.
Alone without her,
We felt abandoned,
Left high and dry,
Our beauty had flown to another paradise,
While we were stuck in hell.

I picked up the phone,
Pressed onto the familiar buttons,
And made that calling.
She answered,
Happy.
While I drowned in salty tears.
Across the boroughs,
You sank into your own,
Days and nights,
Missing beauty,
But the call you could not make.

I began to call more often,
Listen to her,
Just like my own heartbeat,
She said words of wisdom,
Sonnets that sang as beautiful
As the harp,
The tears flowed more than drowned,
And I knew she had to return.

So I cried out to her,
I cried out you;
She is returning;
She will bring Paradise;
She will come.
Will you.....