Wishful Thinking Poem by Charles Hancock

Quietly I sat in her favorite chair
And thought I detected her perfume
In our darkened living room

Was that her best-loved scent in the air?
The pleasant aroma was that of a rose
I took her afghan and held it to my nose

On it, I discovered some of her hair
A few strands of brown and a few of gray
The throw kept her warm when she'd crochet

Lightening suddenly filled my lair
The charge issued from a late night squall
Was that her shadow on the wall?

I quickly turned and held my stare
Slowly my heart began sinking
'Twas nothing but wishful thinking