WHISPERED NAME
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This is a poem of the heart,
when love is lost and longing starts.
Call in the night, the whispered name;
memories to drive oneself insane.
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Do his eyes fill up with tears,
with thoughts of love which was so dear?
Does he yearn to hold me tight;
is he tortured in the night?
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If we came to meet again,
would smiles replace this lasting pain;
or would we simply nod hello,
afraid to let our feelings show?
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A love-torn heart that never mends
needs to know of love again.
Call in the night the whispered name;
memories to drive oneself insane.
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Copyright Linda Ann Ford 1999
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