The Ruing of Dorothy

 

With the first two notes, the heart fluttered

At the thought of that Summer of ’42 -

When death sought comfort in my arms.

And your heart lay on the floor -broken

Like so many glimmering seashells along the shore.

Telling stories of a lifetime that never lived

That now walks in, with a tattered book of poems.

A phantom of lost love

That resides in a book of verse

In cold reticence;

And I, in warmth, holding a book of poems.