Slowly, so-very-slowly in ways,
yet how fast and bleared
go those years of days
So much has changed,
and I've changed, too,
but some things stay the same—
like how I miss you
I missed the gift
of your letters, your self,
only when there was a rift
between you and health
Five years, nearly,
since I last saw you, so altered—
I miss you dearly,
even the way your words faltered
So much has stayed:
my foolish words and blind eyes—
but for change I often pray,
and the Lord hears my cries
I miss your songs
and poems, your wonder
and childlike joys, gone,
mind and reality torn asunder
Years and disease
have made you disappear, my friend—
Sorrow brings me to my knees
at how we came to an end
So much might resolve,
but my hopes wane,
as the days and years revolve,
and you don't write again
I miss who you were,
miss what I didn't value
enough when I had it, sir—
oh, if only we knew. . .
If we but knew
how to order our loves,
our minds, our days so few—
how to give thanks to Him above
Had I known
ten years ago,
had I received with thanks,
what difference would that make?
