Though I don''t write
or call you
as often as I would like to
I spend time every day
thinking about you
Sometimes it is
a memory of something we shared
Other times it is
an incident in my life
that I imagine myself
telling you about
No matter what it is
in my mind
I write and call you every day
and I miss you
What shall I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted ere I see thy face?
How shall I charm the interval that lowers
Between this time and that sweet time of grace?
