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January
The gentle rain speaks your name
and once again I say,
that even though you probably know
I thought of you today.
Why won't I even slightly try
to get you out of my mind?
Forget a touch that meant nothing much
and leave it all behind.
Leaves are falling, they too are calling
and each one holds your name.
And though a breeze puts me somewhat at ease,
I find I feel the same.
It seems so hard to disregard
the memories I hold of you.
And each it seems brings special dreams
and the dreams will have to do.
James P. Howell
Copyright ©2002
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