A picture has been painted in my memory
of that afternoon, when our union was broken.
I was seated by the crackling fireside,
the scent of the roses had perfumed the parlor.
You arrived, and removed your top hat,
you were always the gentleman.
When you kneeled before me
and tenderly took me by the hand,
I knew what you were going to ask me.
We had spoken about it, many times before.
Then, in an instant, our dreams were ended.
When abruptly, my father interrupted us,
and he made you leave.
My mother tried to stop him, but she could not.
That was the last time I saw you.
The last time that you kissed my hand.
I wondered if we would ever be united, again.
My tears fell all that evening,
staining my white satin dress.
I could have worn that dress on our wedding day.
I now, am seated alone in this very same parlor,
remembering that moment, with a broken heart.
Wondering if I will ever see you again, my love.
And, hoping that our love will triumph.
Written for Isaiah Zerbst's contest - Charles Haigh Wood