Mary Fowler

(Akron, Ohio)

Missing You

I miss you when the sun comes up each morning;
I think of all the days we used to share.
To lie in bed would only make it harder,
Knowing, Dear, that you will not be there.

They said that time would somehow make it better;
That missing you would cease to rule my life.
And so I play a part and none's the wiser,
But still the pain keeps stabbing like a knife.

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