Spiritual Poverty

Sometimes I think I shall sleep alone forever,
              and my narrow single bed feels cavernous,

and aching.


Sometimes I think that even my cold heart could break,
  when I see your name, your face, your writing on old, forgotten letters
            hiding in the bottom of drawers.


Sometimes I think of you when no one is listening,
  walking down the misty pathways to the secret recesses of the woods,

and finding your laugh in my heart.  


Sometimes I think I shall never love again,
    and then the moon shines over the river, and I find flowers growing
from the cobbles,
and the sun sets rosy over the Cathedral, and bathes the city in a gentle glow,



          and then I know.  Yes, I shall love again, for I still love every day.