Sonnet For 2002

My pen hath dried, so I lock it away
And let it melt into the wooden drawer,
Like your image faded into the day.
I can remember tragedy no more.
Your laugh no longer lingers here on Earth.
Now Heav’n enfolds you in its golden love.
Though twenty mournful months have seized our mirth,
We shall be reunited there above.
The tears I felt I held no right to shed
Have spilt more times than I would care to count.
Remorse for all those words I left unsaid
Shall not, my peace in knowledge, e’er surmount.
After these twenty mournful months, once more,
I lift my pen and write of times of yore.