Will I see you

in summer

when winter's ice

has long since melted

from my memory?

Will I see you

in summer

when your portrait etched so deeply

is slowly fading

from my mind?

And keepsakes

I pledged to remember

are but isolated shadows.

Should I reflect on you

when I write my memoirs?

I fear the poets will pass us by.

Oh, my special friend -

It could have been.

It could have been.

~ (C) ~
Private Collections
A Smudge on My Life's Window

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