quick -- before I lose my nerve,
hanging on the end of every word --
pull the switch,
pull the switch,
the grandest of all verve,
saying goodbye without a word;

quick -- before I forget the Way,
running out of things to say --
not likely ever,
not likely ever,
the best is likely yet to come,
maybe even before I am undone;

quick -- before the Time has passed,
sitting on the wall looking at me --
the last one I will see,
the last one I will see,
the best one I have loved:
you, on the wings of a dove.

January 9, 2009, for She Who Cannot Be Named.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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