A little poem

Heart pounding, I sat up too quickly

from lying on the floor, hardwood floor;

she'd stood, lent over me asking why I couldn't

see her, "Am I not important to you?" she said.

" You are", I'd mumbled, " but I don't know how

to show you."; the plink of another tear on

the varnished floorboards, dampness on my cheek.

"You are, but I don't know how to show you."

4 Replies

  • Thank you Dave1981


  • very thought provoking . my spelling is terrible thanks dave.xoxo

  • Thank you for sharing this. :)

  • I quite liked it Dave, but don't give up the day job. Even the greatest poets don't earn a lot.

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