An Image Of You
My eyes fell by chance on an image of you,
And my heart, my silly heart, stilled for a moment.
It cannot grasp that we are not to be,
That I am not the girl of your dreams.
You let go of me.
You let me out of your life with such ease,
With such cruel ease.
Yes, saying goodbyes does get easier,
As I grow older,
As the partings amount.
But I am not yet of cold-blooded stone,
Not yet truly wise –
And so I grieve and mourn each loss.
I grieve and mourn each loss.
Still grieve and mourn each loss.
Anna Kirshenbaum's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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