On silent Sundays I remember you …
The bells will toll and fail to stir the town;
The dust of duty days will settle down.
Subdued and sore I nurse a love once true.
On weary weekdays I remember you …
At work the weakened woes may go to waste
With all the restless rut and humdrum haste.
At break I drowse and dream of love anew.
On bashful birthdays I remember you …
It’s sad I cannot see your senior grace,
The soulful seams that bless a female face.
They’d flush with lasting love as fresh as dew.
Our heyday humbled, I remember you …
Yes, I yield to fate but yearn for younger years,
When seagulls hove around to brightened piers.
Wrecked, I land and dock the love I used to woo.