her house is not deserted
but it might feel that way
as she perches on the sill
with cigarette maybe
coffee
and stares out at the Moon
he -- whomever that may be
with whom she once
shared the sun -- is
not coming
and he can't make still the heart
that longs for him
the poet –in ancient
times
pining for Prince
there is no one to listen
so she spends all the sleepless nights
wishing she could see
the geese in flight
and have him wrap his arms around her
like a circle around
the Sun
oh, she loves her baby
maybe as the old folk tune claims
He’s bound to love her some
as she lays down on her lonely bed
just trying to get some rest
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