I was not quiet when she took him from me.
I did not sit idly by and let him slip past me,
like some twig upon the water.
But for all my screaming, and all my effort
I still have nothing to show.
My hands are empty, and what they once held
has been stolen by a thief so pretty that no one will accuse her.

I am left now with nothing.
I have no picture to show he's been here,
no letters to remind me of his voice.
Only a fragment of the dream
that she tipped carelessly from my shelf
as she took him from my heart.

AcB 11.17.00