In the crinkled pages, of an old notebook

I wrote my life story, with all that it took

Parchment discolored, tattered and torn

Of how my life was ended, when yours was reborn

I had kept them so close, afraid to let go

This was just me, though you’d never know

You didn’t remember, once, we were one

All that we had, had been sadly undone

It was then that I realized, how could I be so blind

This fantasy, created, was all in my mind

You never brought roses, nor held me so close

My words on the paper, were mere empty prose

Now the books are frayed, and the roses are dried

Left there, in memory, of the day that I died

©Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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