I will not think of her today,
I'll think of other things,
Like zephyrs in the bending trees,
The meadow lark that sings
Outside my window every dawn;
I'll think of treasures rare,
Of forest sounds on twilight walks,
Of fragrance in the air;
I'll think of snow on mountain tops,
Of sands beside the sea,
Of ripples in the tumbling streams
That wander wild and free;
I'll think of showers in the Spring,
Of rainbows up above . . .
The only problem . . . all these things
Remind me of my love.
John T. Baker