Empty Spring

Indeed I find myself reluctant

to remember the sweet blooming of your voice.

Your words happily singing inside of my mind,

rousing a sleeping memory beyond all choice.

Who we were was a hometown melody,

freshly squeezed echos rushing through the trees;

Soft and bright-eyed... then swift and dead-done,

lost and dried like the crush of autumn leaves.

I try not to think about you often.

I want to forget those unforgettable things.

But sometimes I wish that you were never gone:

Empty branches swing for an empty Spring.