Sad it’s not Saturday

“How sad it is,” you said, “that today isn’t Saturday.”

And I nodded, as I grabbed my bag,

because those were true words.

How sad indeed, that today is not last Saturday.

How sad indeed that today is not our perpetual Saturday,

where there is always time to write a poem

of love, faith and longing

without falling asleep

as raindrops wash away

the remainder of our last day together.

Have a safe flight hon.

May God watch over you

and our unborn heart.

MdG 11-1-2005

Little did I know… she would never be back.