There Is but You

There Is but You

 

Yet, in the end, there is but you

To make the morning and to speak

 

About the things we know or knew

And reminisce about the week

 

Sometimes a week is two or three,

Some months ago, or many years,

 

And you remember more than me;

And as I sigh, your smile appears

 

You mention something I forget -

I question, what? and wonder who?

 

And as we close this old vignette,

A glance defines the me-and-you

 

Yes, in the end, there is but you

To keep me in the bounds of day,

 

And chat about the things we do

Before the morning slips away.[1]

 

---

[1] Paris was convinced that love on the physical plane was doomed to failure because its full potential could not be realized in an environment that is diametrically opposed to its very existence, let alone its passionate expression. Still, he thought that an individual’s efforts to sustain and refine his ability to love was the most profound responsibility of life.

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Lisasview]

Good morning from Lisa in Spain,
I remember reading another poem by you awhile back but I do not believe you have read any of mine.
I see that you are on line and thought I would read another one of yours. I was delighted to find this one!
Actually brought tears to my eyes! Such a wonderful emotional poem about a connection with someone you care about.
My husband and I are both 75 years old and your words ring true with what often goes in in our daily life.
Loved this!!!
You might enjoy my poem Awaken or perhaps Miles Apart
Lisa
Lisa