Postcards
My love left me a letter,
"Dear one, I hate to make you frown,
But there seems to be a part
That's missing from my heart.
I need to find it
Before I can settle down."
Then she sent me a postcard,
It read, "Caro, ciao from Rome."
She loved the music, food, and wine,
And the Vatican was fine,
And she didn't know
When she'd be coming home.
She caught a cold in London,
Thought she'd glimpsed the King at tea.
The Thames was far less than sublime,
But Big Ben keeps perfect time,
And the galleries
Reminded her of me.
She got a tan in Rio,
The beach there is divine.
Confessed she'd had a little fling,
And leaned a most peculiar thing,
That Brazilian kisses
Don't compare to mine.
Then in a card one morning,
"Dear one, I'm coming home.
The world's too big and much too wide
Without you by my side,
And I've realized
I didn't need to roam."
Now my love's done with traveling,
And she knows in her heart and mind
That the thing she went to find
Was the love she left behind
And wasn't missing,
It was right here all the time.
Author's note: To paraphrase Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz", sometimes if you go looking for your heart's desire, you don't have to look further than your own backyard.
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