To the dearly departed.

Once upon a stormy night as I was trying with all my might to write a poem just for you, there came a sound from way up high... it seemed to come down from the sky... it sounded just like you. Yet you, I knew, it could not be. Although I wish that I could see your smiling face again. I paid no heed, and resumed my read of the poem for you I was writing. But later on I heard once more the laughing voice I’d heard before. (But how? The laugh has died away.) And then I saw with teary eyes: It’s you my love I recognise! Have you come back to stay? And as you gently took my hand; that’s when I began to understand this was but a dream to me. We wandered paths we used to walk. I didn’t feel the need to talk, As holding you was enough for me. The morning after I awoke. The sadness made me want to choke. My happines deminished. That’s when I saw my poem for you. Someone had written the whole night through. Now, it was finished.