That sweet perfume
still lingers by the willow,
like trembling words
that would not leave the marrow.
O how the whisper still rings,
these are the things
I know you love.
The daffodils
still hold their hush till evening,
like faces leaning
as the light’s departing.
O how the shadow clings,
these are the things
I know you love.
The picture house
still hangs its faded faces,
their painted smiles
look down on empty places.
O how the heart still dreams
of all the things
I know you love.
The piano hums
its little gospel in the corner,
and I stand still
as if your voice might enter.
O how the heart still dreams
of all the things
I know you love.
The folded wishes
that we left unspoken,
just like your letter
that I have never opened.
O how the heart still dreams,
these are the things
I know you love.
Featured image adapted from a photo by Ruby Holling
See more on Unsplash: @raluca_enea
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