I could send you a letter
to put bitterness into your heart,
but thorns and salt on the wound
might hurt me more than Winters did.
So now all the leaves
have fallen to the ground
I write on the dancing candle flame
last words that will go up in smoke.
Midnight tears and lost Springs.
Heartaches and Love ungiven.
I forgive you everything.
© Frédéric Georges Martin