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.
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