FOR CONNIE
humans come, while humans go
as poets do, (we poets know)
but rare and few, you find a friend
who winds their way to kindly wend
with whimsied wiles, into your heart
and there, before objections start,
they plant the sweetest little seed
and tend it with such care and need
that, 'fore you know, it's brightly bloomed
and your defenses, (deftly doomed)
are turned to blossoms, quite unique -
a twinkled eye, a smiled cheek
and though the chance to meet may be
what chance can't grant, you still can see
that this dear orchid's quite sincere
they share each joy, and wipe each tear
they truly FEEL what you convey
and gift you in their special way
with phrases meant to brighten up
your day, and fill your "better" cup
to overflowing, and when through
you know they've made you more like "You"
and brought to you this precious thing:
the song of You you're meant to sing!
oh, blessed was I to hear this song
my dear friend - Connie Marcum-Wong
but since the angels set her free
this tender music's gone from me
still, I'll recall her "those" and "that's"
and cherish all our cheery chats
her comments, kind, and emails, sweet
the pains she'd take to not compete
her child's heart and gentle phrase
that always warmed the chilly days
her poems of romance, love and charm
that settled like a dreamy balm
her wistful wit - the way she'd nurse
a line to cleanly craft each verse
her careful clause, her kindness' kiss
oh, all these things, I'll dearly miss!
but I'll miss Connie most of all
when all my darkness comes to call
and tears (like these) fill up my eye
to give her Soup Mail one more try ...
but I won't get ... her dear reply.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, September 17, 2022