So tell me, love — if I had known how rare
was that conjunction, the words so sweet that we
exchanged, that gentle touch, if I could see
then what I see now, would I have paused there,
made a greater effort, taken greater care?
That you should love us both, cherish him and me,
and those feelings be returned, if I, if we
had known, the worth of what we shared?
In winters cold and gone, he touched you, so;
you sighed, and I was warmed. Above you, smiled
and urged him on, your joy enough for all.
And now, now that you are gone away, though
all his warmth is mine, I stare at walls, while
away the hours. Long summer drifts to fall.