She's Gone

On the Woodstock green Sitting on a bench She doesn't see me watching Traffic on Tinker Street Hides me from her view She skips about In a world of her own Unaware of me Across the street Watching her laugh At the store windows And smiling At everyone passing by My eyes seem transfixed By her form As she grows smaller In the distance A noise From deep within my soul Makes a cheerless silent sound Reviving memories Much too sharp to hold And much too distant To touch.