carefully stored for darker days sure to come.
You knew her then, you decided when
it was time to fiddle, to pick or strum.
How could you be so blind to plainly waved whiter flags
that signal how much has been dared?
Did you offer her roses before asking
if you could take her by the hand and lead her there?
Bring on the music, raise the Chablis, drink in the sunrise.
See her turned away so lovely face there in the mirror.
You know it well, but it might take you by surprise
to find your life no longer bettered like the time that you had near her.
You saw her balancing the different hurts
underneath the hat of love she used to wear;
she can no longer see you as the only light along her path,
leaving you standing adjacent to an always empty chair.
The cloud above you is dark sided but means no rain,
still it blocks the sunbeams plainly meant to warm her.
Letting her believe that life is not fooling her again;
you become only another approaching storm.