Amy

                                  
Amy, I often wonder why

we had to leave our playthings

behind, behind.



Maybe, the fear of what I’d find,

oh, you know, it forced me to leave my baby bean

behind, behind.



Are you a teacher now or a mother?

Your poetry reads like a dream

of you, of you.



And your house on the hill is falling down.

And the boy chasing us home - he is falling down.

Daddy’s little girl, oh, you know she sometimes falls down.

The tide is coming in now. The waves fall down.

We all fall down. But not you. Not you.



Amy, they say no regrets

but in all of my days, I wish I had stayed

with you, with you. Amy.