You were always first to leave,
the first to put on coat and hat
when wine was barely served,
the first to walk away
in midst of heated argument,
the first to sprint back home
when clouds appeared in sunny skies.
You beat me to the punch again,
I know you’re satisfied.
I can hear your laughter
in the rustle of the leaves.
Now I’m the last to leave your side
as mourners drift away.
Goodbye, my love, goodbye.
published in Sonnets to Sing
Comments