The shadows of the trees run long across the fields. The sun's
Just up. Two hours west, I know she sleeps. With luck, she'll also
See some sun, though where she is, it's often cloudy. I will idle
All day here, a useless old retired man, while she will dash.
She'll dress and drive to buy her coffee, go to work and do
Whatever it is that she's paid to do. She won't have time, as I
Do, to remember distant, pleasant days when we wise-cracked
Our ways through Paris and Las Vegas, Chinatown. Those
Memories, like morning shadows, vividly return to me. She'll
Rise when the sun's too high. The shadows will be gone.