Her likeness made in clay--
A bit unreal;
The hero in my play,
Without her temptress grip;

That thing that slips away
Every time I try someway to grasp at it.

​

A sweetheart once upon,
An ingenue;
So quickly come and gone;
A bittersweet adieu;

Now I do a deep review--
How her disappearance bit, how hard it hit.

​

Soon enough a channel opened wide;
Many pleasant years, a cheerful ride;
And then the sudden loss
Brought empty evenings;
Then came the thoughts from long ago.

​

A photo of a crowd--
I see her there;
I hear me call out loud
As if she might be near;

The hold of dreams of old,
Cold across the years but still alive inside.