First to Leave

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