by Robert Louis Arehart
I weep to tell you dear that I am not the one to be.
I'll never hold your gentle hand in quiet reverie.
We will not walk the golden paths of Autumn's twilight years,
Nor even stroll along the sand to watch the wheeling Shears.
We have no time to get to know - yet love each other true.
Our day will never come to be - I think we always knew.
We've had grand times and moments, swell... alone or in a crowd.
We pleasured well within the span that fate has us allowed.
Our love was quiet, sweet and pure... calm as a stormless sea,
but now the time has come to part and go our ways, set free.
I will not love you any less than I have ever done,
and will remember in my heart - I ALMOST found the ONE!