It's easy to be fancy, harder to be clear,
It's easy to be flowery, harder still to bloom,
When what you say is masked by fear,
And what you feel is stalking doom.

I hear your cry, I hear your cry, my love;
I know your wounds and foundered failing health,
My heart, your heart are hand and glove,
My life, your life are all our wealth.

As I write, I wonder at your measured span;
I cry for more and still I know that time must end,
I cry for love and life—but scan
What's coming, coming past the bend.

If I cannot say what I must surely say,
And  can give you smiles and tell you soothing lies,
Surely God will find a way,
And surely there will never be goodbyes.

© Phil Hodgkins, 2002