Oft I've sat alone upon
A Grassy hidden knoll.
Wondering about your possible return
And the pain or joy it'd extoll.
The thoughts do linger soft
Like dew upon the rose;
But soon reality pierces the clouds
Chastised for such absurd prose.
"What if", I think o'er again
"He'll return into my arms?"
"Should I protest his coming back
Or surrender to his charms?"
A sigh escapes my parted lips
And a wistful thought does twist;
"There is no need for any hope
To him you did not exist".
And so the thoughts do simply end,
Yet the cycle will start a new;
"What if he should return to me?"
"Oh what is it I would do?"
I oft sit down and quiet thoughts
Of what could never be....
And as the cycles waxes and wanes
I know my destiny.
Copyright Dancers Inc. 1997
