the library some years ago
cast your eyes upon me once
you cant deny that.
it was when the shadows were long
and the moon was high
and upon your sweet face
a sadness caught the loss we felt.
but you stayed far across the room
in your over-sized chair,
your hands folded primly in your lap
your feet together on the floor.
your eyes were on me oh so briefly.
you closed them and leaned back
into the softness of the cushions.
in your thinness you seemed to disappear
among the folds of your dress.
that was when I stood
book in hand
and began to walk to you,
silent on the carpeted floor.
I wanted you at that moment---
I comfort myself with the thought
that even now you must know that.
but I didnt make it across that room,
I was never to touch you.
I was turned back
when with your eyes still shut
you began to sing---
weep and Ill count the tears,
and each one will be a bliss
for you in after-years.
all things mourn awhile
at fleeting blisses,
let us, too; but this will be our dirge
a dirge with no kisses.
I wanted to return a song that day
(you never knew that did you?).
but the time passed and I walked away.
only now do I sing to you,
a song incomplete---
unknown to you forever.
W. King lives in Columbia, Tennessee.
He is a retired social studies and reading teacher of 35 years.
"During those busy years of teaching, I continued to dabble
in writing when I could. Now that I am retired, I am able to devote
more time and be more serious with what has always been an interest
and desire," King says. He enjoys writing poetry and short
stories, and currently, he is in the middle of a book writing
Jerry W. King