I find myself thinking upon
The times of bliss that may be gone.
Our times of happiness and trust
Can hardly compete with your lust
For someone you have never met,
Or have you? I cannot forget
What facts were never given me.
What’s meant to be is meant to be
Is all that I can tell myself.
In times of trial, at least my health
Is not yet failing far beyond
The help that comes from kin or bond.
Yet something’s missing, yes, it’s true.
The trust, our joys, and maybe you.