by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Sometimes I want to go to you
but remember that I have
put you in a special room
far from here,
a room, nonetheless,
with an open door,
so that I can enter

So, I can see
your smile when you
were running with Shiva,
the golden lab,
through autumn leaves
in a special forest
long ago.
So, I can walk through that door


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

2 responses to “Anytime

  1. Nicely done as ever, Ethel, moving and sensitive. And concise.

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