A Memoir

The waves speak of the ocean’s mystery

You play flute beneath the ceiling of stars

So close to Heaven on the lifeguard’s chair

When I with my soft voice sing harmony

I gather shells and stones with pretty scars

And you touch nothing else but my long hair.

Even now I hold dear this memory

Of holding hands and climbing the sand bar

The thermos of hot Ovaltine we share

Your love for Vivaldi and Debussy.

Perhaps one day you will read this memoir

I hoped to find you but did not know where.