she allows me to love her
and often that is enough
when i am missing you
but dreams are not kind to me
nor do memories soothe
there are those who can forget
there are those who find solace
i am not one of those
i may love another but
whenever i grow sad with wine
or rise from the depths of sleep
always i meet your face
(after a deep-sworn vow, by w.b. yeats)