Coffee sits cold on the kitchen counter.
I turn the pages of the paper,
Reading just the headlines.
The house is quiet,
I hear the ticking
Of the clock on the wall,
Old-fashioned, I know,
But there is comfort in it.
The day moves on,
Routines performed with
Not really thinking.
Then a sudden thought of you
Catches me unaware
And before I know,
The sweeping is done,
And you are still before me.
Your smile and crinkling eyes
Float just out of reach.
Evening finds the sun
Leaving its smudge of pink
Supper, a bowl of soup
And memories of you,
Thinking of our French dinners
Of bread and cheese
Topped with wine and conversation.
Night finds me reading,
My head propped on
But soon, my eyes are
Running over the words,
Not really seeing.
My head begins to nod.
I reach for the light,
And although I have the whole,
I still do it,
I still sleep on my half of the bed.
Charles Darnell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Empty by Charles Darnell )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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