I found a token in the pages of a book,
I found a letter written many years ago
That told how love can grow in a word or in a look,
I found a secret that no one was meant to know.
For decades folded, yellowing, almost turned to dust,
A billet doux in purple ink, faint in the failing light,
I read the honeyed words, hearing the ring of broken trust,
Seeing days of easy laughter turn to weeping in the night.
I found a flower, dried, all colour bled away,
No scent, no nectar left to tempt a passing bee
Yet ghostly lips had kissed it when someone was far away—
I seem to remember that those lips belonged to me.