He sits to face
An empty space,
Across a table
Where time ago
A chair left bare,
Yet so reflects
A face he loved,
Remains aglow,
Upon a glass
Of pale rosé…
Each forlorn day
In vain he stares,
With musing’s play,
One can near feel
Her presence there,
His mind will trace
Upon the empty chair,
Memory of her face
That will not part
That special space,
Fixed in his heart…
Alas the man
Said of two glasses,
Sits so to face
That empty space
As time so passes,
But for a moment dwells,
On memory only he can tell!