WENDY STERN - POEMS

A time of year,
A sudden memory,
The last time we touched.

Your hair, long,
Halfway down your back,
Still the colour of hay,
Fifteen years younger.

Fifteen years
Of love without love,
Fifteen years,
Of love without touch,
What can the heart say?
But to bleed
With the love of it all,
What can the heart say?
But to bleed
With the loyalty of it all.

A love
That had to find
A different way.