Beach House

beach house

By Dianne Moritz

That house is lonely now.
First my dog, next your old cat.
No one expected a cancer,
So quick and greedy.

How I miss your laugh,
Blaze of blue eyes as you
Spoke of love and work,
Offered sage advice.
I miss these happy sounds:
Ice tossed in a glass,
Jazz in the background,
The unlikeliness of us
Being together there.

Those brief moments,
Memories so clear,
while the house stands
Bereft now, cold, empty as air.

         
Dianne Moritz enjoys capturing brief moments in time, celebrating trials, tribulations, and beauty of life. She dreams of publishing a book of drabble.

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