Only Then

How sad the news came on a day

that was a drizzle of sky and gray

with barely the breeze to move a leaf

just as summer lost its breath

and autumn brought its hint of death

to withered vines of garden grief.

Strange that it was then I learned

the corner we had turned
led not to a path but a wall
and on it, written plain as day,
what no voice dared to say.
Yet only then I heard you call.
© Copyright 2010 Tom Kapanka/ Patterns of Ink
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