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What do I want. What.
Some body again who cares
For my call,
As the best part of their day.
Who loves getting it.
Who's day is
better for a few simple words.
For sharing a slice of life with
One who cares.
Grace at its best carries us
Easily in an embrace that
Makes life effortless.
Grace otherwise must be carefully held
And still may often leave us
Bereft and scarred.
What a string of perfectly beautiful days,
Cool and breezy. Painting in my studio while
Listening to music.
Walk the dogs along pine-needle strewn paths.
Home to fresh warm breads, a glass of wine under
A moon-dark sky.
Bid my dogs, my cats, goodnight, then open
Windows to the last autumn air, warmly nestled
Under furry blankets.
What a complete, utter fool am I to think
Love would find me again. That to another I
Would be first.
Such is a hurtful, delusional fantasy, such idiocy,
I can not any longer count love as a possibility, yet,
When could I?
The small equilibrium gained a half year ago,
Now broken, is a cost dear. I hope only I can regain
Me alone needed.