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Sunday, November 28, 2004


   You know who you are . . .
As if I'd write 'bout any other gal
I know except my dearest in the east,
Near Potomac and battlegrounds I shall
One day come visit to her at the least,

Before that fated day that year we met,
I spent many a night with heavy heart,
From others in my life whose minds were set,
Leaving me pained and scorned by cherub's dart,

This dearest to my hollowed self she filled,
And showed me that despite mine own rough times,
That people around to myself they willed
Their love and thoughts like golden, hallowed chimes,

And then by chance as if to pay in kind,
She took to ill and ache against her will,
From then and on my time to her I signed,
And vowed much that I must carry out still,

Despite these pains she moves forward for all,
Defending loved friend until the end,
And taking lashes yet she does not fall,
Though she remains mortal, her friends she'll tend,

From now and then I ask that she do less,
And yet she marches on despite my fears,
And heads the battles, shunting off the stress,
She then returns to me though filled with tears,

That's when I try to comfort best I can,
Though miles between us hinder much I'd do,
I sometimes cried depending how chats ran,
And yet those times have never felt less true,

There was a time I was two steps away,
From leaving home and taking a short leave,
From school and normal life I would not stay,
As long as she was in a mood to grieve,

Indeed the offer still remains at hand,
Where I would drop it all to see her face,
And tell her all'd be well within her land
and heart and mind and soul, her home and base,

And though I'd do all this and more her for,
There's still a line I'd never dare to cross,
And yet she stays on my mind all the more,
As friend, as darling, dearest, lass, and boss,

She may be far from me in many ways,
And I accept this distance fully well,
For with my thoughts forever time she stays,
Quite happily with me as you can tell,


I still feel she deserves all in the sky,
So 'til then may all our hopes with her lie . . .

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