Empty chairs…
Sit on an empty garden deck,
Shadowed tall by the wild cherry tree.
A hidden garden, private from all,
But the birds, insects, squirrels and me.
The only conversation I hear….
A faint train whistle drawing near,
The distant murmur of city traffic,
And the drone of insects in the night.
Bright shines the swollen moon.
I’m thinking you will be here soon.
But no, not tonight or tomorrow…
There are just a few days to borrow.
You have other roads to take,
Other commitments to make.
I only feel a quiet sorrow.
Empty chairs…
Purchased for sharing morning sun and moonlit moments…
I feel the cool breeze fill the empty space…
A remembered scent of you is just a trace.
And in my mind, I see you there,
In the moon shadows of this night…
But there are only empty chairs and empty air.
by Donabelle Leecraft
