Never There

For days that

Felt like years

I followed the familiar

Path she had etched

Over many meetings,

Past the cow bells

Tinkling, the notes

Dancing from the

Open windows of

The cottages, the

Old stone wall with

Lovers’ names in

Hearts and scratches,

The swing on the

Tree that seemed

To have grown

Forever, to the

Top of the hill

To the spot she

Called my space,

But she was

Never there.

Stephen Nesbitt ©