We met, quite by accident, at the concession stand.
Some forty years or so have passed
since last I was your leading man.
Those years have dealt you kindly; Just a touch of grey.
Surely it was fate that had us attending this same play.
I see in your face your mother but with kinder gentler eyes.
You are, its true, still the girl I knew, just in a mature guise.
When we were closer to birth than death I thrilled to hold your hand.
In our beginnings are our ends; I thirst to understand.
It brought a smile back to my lips when you touched me on the sleeve.
Time, sufficient to heal all wounds, has passed, I do believe.