A poem by Marty Beaudet, © 1990
She is always there to greet me;
It matters not where I have been or
What I have done;
She wraps me in her arms.
Though at times I’ve been unfaithful,
Pursuing the foolish dreams of youth
While chased by the fears of age;
Still, she does not waver.
She’s no good for me; I must leave her.
Or so my friends will claim,
Yet, when all my friends have disappeared,
She’s waiting up for me.
Try as I may to find another,
Kinder and more uplifting,
None such will abide.
And she beckons softly, in her patient way.
She is not lovely or kind, but firm.
Flattery and false hopes
Do not fall from her lips.
Her only promise: to be forever by my side.
I’m sure you’ll understand then,
If I cannot stay the night;
She awaits me in the darkness and
To her bosom I must return.
She will forgive (but not forget) my folly;
When all is said and done,
And worlds have passed away,
We shall be together, just Sorrow and me.
By A Thread 