Blogging · Prose · stories · Thoughts

She Asked Me…

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She asked me to write,
a letter
in this time of no letter writing, she wanted a hand-written
letter,
She wanted no more, and no less than what I could give her, a hand-written note
of many pages,
which she held most dear,

That was her way, and I sat down to write,
and licked my pen and sharpened my pencil
and thought a new thought, about how it would sound, if she stood right behind me, and
watched what I wrote,
She watched and she waited for me to respond to her greatest wish, while I considered my
plight,
What should I write, of the truth, as to say, would be so enlightening, or would she just
sigh?

I wrote and I wrote, while she stood at the window, and watched the snow fall, and did she,
or, didn’t she,
understand all my words,
or wondered aloud of astonishment,
or so?

And I collapsed on the floor among the papers and such, that didn’t, and couldn’t say,
what she wanted, or dreamed of,
but then,
she gathered the papers and folded them such,
and cherished them as greatly,
as when we were as one,
in that cabin last winter,
with the snow falling down

And we are together, alive in her memory, alive in the writings, she wanted from me,
when,
I was alive…….

 

 

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