Fingers shake.
Scribble down one last thought.
Sigh of relief.
Lay envelope under pillow.
Eyes close.

This is a poem,
Like any other poem.
About a girl who met a boy.
Did they fall in love,
Yes,
They did.
They fell,
Like the rain.
Then,
One day,
The boy,
Smiled.
And that was that.
But,
The girl,
She couldn't forget.
She couldn't forget that smile.
And, so
She wrote to him.
A poem a day.
Everyday,
Before she slept,
Slipping them under her bed.
With each passing day,
The girl wrote a new poem.
And soon,
She became an old woman.
But,
The boy had also become old,
And, once again, he left,
Resting in peace.
When she found out.
The old woman didn't know what to do.
So,
She wrote one last poem,
And slipped it under her pillow.....

The old woman down the street had died.
Who was she?
No one came to her funeral.
Apparently, there were pieces of paper stuffed under her bed.
Its trash now.