A Mystery To Him Poem by Edward Lemond

What she thought of all he'd just said
Would remain a mystery, as so much
About her remained a mystery to him,

Since that most wretched day when she
Told him she didn't want to see him
Anymore. She might not even open

His message and read it. He certainly
Didn't expect a reply. It was like groping
In the dark every time he tried to talk

With her. If she was there, listening,
She was deathly quiet, ready to walk
The moment he came too near.

Time heals all wounds, they say,
But perhaps this was more serious
Than a wound. Perhaps it was

A permanent rift. How sad
That would be, for him. Because,
If true, he had lost what was dear.