You may think I don't remember
what my soul knows of
your coming and leaving, of
our hurting and forgiving
so that when I walk along
what might have been our place
in some distant life,
I shake hands with the hills,
offer a tired hug to the shore
and they know me and kiss my heels.
They ask me where you are, and
forgive me for admitting
you won't let me know
They tell me to go home
and love you anyway
which is what I do
content with my morning coffee
alone.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
You may think I don't remember
what my soul knows of
your coming and leaving, of
our hurting and forgiving
so that when I walk along
what might have been our place
in some distant life,
I shake hands with the hills,
offer a tired hug to the shore
and they know me and kiss my heels.
They ask me where you are, and
forgive me for admitting
you won't let me know
They tell me to go home
and love you anyway
which is what I do
content with my morning coffee
alone.
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