I Miss That Room
by Roy Ernest Ballard
I miss that room where favourite poems hung,
the sweetest bed, the best of furniture…
The last song of the skylark has been sung
and shadows show where things familiar were.
Foolish it is to think that any art
of paint or words can fill the empty space
that once possessed us, heart and loving heart,
returning us a moment to that place.
Eternities of emptiness are worse
than empty where they once held you
with all the happy memories I nurse
now underwritten with a last adieu.
‘Don't die before me', once I heard you say.
I have been faithful to you then, in that hard way.