Oh, Charlotte:

I’m here in your city

with all of its pretty, weathered clapboard houses,

and yards edged with picket fences and sunflowers growing tall –

they say you can taste the salt on the air,

but all that I’ve noticed is the chill in the wind.

Charlotte, oh Charlotte

I wish you were here with me

in this lovely little sea-side town

where all of the shops close their doors come Sunday.

But darling, you are nowhere to be found,

and so I’m left to just sit on this bench by the boardwalk

to wander along the empty streets in my mind

searching for you.

Charlotte, oh Charlotte, 

you break my heart; I love you for it.

And even after all of these years,

I can still feel the pull of your call

like the tides rushing in; like the waves rocking the fishing boats moored in the harbour.

But just as surely as the wind kicks up, you are gone –

slipping from my grasp, like the burnt coloured sands of the Northern shore

as they fall through the cracks of my fingers.

Oh, Charlotte, I loved you so; I loved you the most,

and now I’m here in your town

waiting for you to come home

to me once and for all.