On some rainy and gloomy autumn day,
A constant beeping of heart monitors,
Murmurs echoing through halls,
The odors of cleaning alcohol and decay,
Old and decrepit, still here, I lay

Peering through the shutter, opened wide,
At the rain knocking down shriveled-up leaves,
At various little plants that have lost their color and died,
In memories I dwell, to distract me of what comes closer,
I sigh,

It’s funny how these leaves have remembered the color of your eyes,
And the wind, your sweet embrace,
It’s funny that it’s been 50 years,
That I haven’t seen your face,

I wonder If you still remember me,
Or the laughs we used to share,
Or how you changed me as a person,
To again believe in love and care,

If only I could go back in time,
To those winter nights, in the cold,
I’d put it all on the line,
And send you “ily’s” through the phone,

Or more snarky pick-up lines,
In which my *******-ness would show,
Or more pictures that I had snapped that day,
I should’ve written you more poems,

Never again, in my travels, did I meet someone,
That had her humor or beauty,
Or her wit or her charms,
Or her sensitive, kind soul, you’d want to protect from all harm,

Now I lay here, yet I smile,
Because in memories of you,
I’m naught but beguiled,

And I know I am being called from above,
But I still pay it little to no mind,
As I’m still stuck on cloud number 9,
Because of she who still believes in love.