Diane
She listened to me; sometimes I had to talk all night.
She was my ears when I read late with a forbidden light
And my father’s snores were the signal that all was well,
That we needn’t fear the sudden steps that were his frightening tell.
She watched for me when I ran in the night to break free of the strain;
She waited for me to return back home; she would open the window pane.
She watched and waited and listened and prayed and hoped and gave.
She was my ears, my eyes, my help, my friend, she was so brave.
In later years she became my memory for all of those I lost.
In later years she drifted away and I have always rued the cost.
She was my sister, my person, my touchstone, my courage, my hope.
Her name is Diane.
I pray we meet again.
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