On hearing, years afterward, of Roberta’s death

First met in our salad days,
she was one dearest, one most hotly loved.
First, time and distance sundered us.
Now, the fiat of death drops a pall between us.

Mind of wonder, voice of songbirds,
forthright heart open with untrammeled love
for all the world; mouth of red rose,
strawberry breasts, thighs lithe as wind –
now all for me mere memories.
Such images take their substance
from one who exceeded all praise.
To her they compare as would
wrecked petals, sere fruit, a desolate sigh.

Her youth and her beauty’s shadow
haunt the angry silence of my tired heart.

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll   2011