No one ever knew her like I did,
But I never knew her at all.
She was something so easy to read,
Yet so hard to figure at all.

What was it that I saw in her?
I’m not quite sure of that reason.
But my love for her kept living,
As the seeds through every season.

We’ve all a mark or two in past
That shame us of our being.
But what we do to carry on
Is the point we should be seeing.

My love for her was all she had,
And yet I let her down.
She had no other choice
Than to leave without a sound.

Where she’s going and what she’s doing,
I think I’ll never know.
For though I really loved her so,
I knew nothing of the woman you know.

11-29-1993 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Getting to know one’s self
is like never knowing yourself at all