A rose in hand.
He walks the path.
Tears fall on stone and grass,
his hand trembles on the picture,
his memories of the past.
A heart grows heavy as another lays cold.
His thoughts go back to days of old,
and his mind lingers on words untold.
He puts the picture in his coat
his last thought, "if only she had known"
He tells himself, he must be wrong
And hates himself because she's gone.
He knows it must have been his fault,
knows what it was that she had sought.
Three words that had never touched his tongue
came unbidden,
and were gone as soon as they had come.
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