Picture of Love

...quietly you sit
loving me with your soft eyes;
this picture well viewed...

Many miles away I know not
what you really think of me,
your letters dated months ago
still remain beside my pillow
the small bundle pining
for one more creased page
to be slipped beneath this
pink ribbon, that smells
of lover's valentine perfume.

Everyday the sun relights
my slowly shortening
candle of hope, my hands
shake as I reach into
the depths of my mailbox,
the one painted with daisies
that stands like the leaning
tower of Pisa just below
the drooping branches
of an aged willow tree
at the end of the lane.

But there is only ever
darkness and crawling
creatures to great me,
my hope snuffed out again.