Sometimes in November
When the sun is sitting high...

A man lost his wife with the plague at its worst
She died in the night while she slept...

A poem should touch the inner core
Where feelings are only found...

She got it a week before Christmas
Like every year before...

A poem is a song that our souls need to sing
Written to the music our emotions bring...

Poets will try to hide their pain
Where tears will go unseen...

Nobody taught me how to love you
It was already in my heart...

I borrowed your old picture
I just couldn't help myself...

What spirit is this that steals my sleep
And haunts me from the past...

Today I saw a diamond cry
For your beauty stole its shine...

In a brand new box of crayons
A love begins to sprout...

Sometimes secrets can be hard to find
They stay hidden so far out of sight...