When you come

This is not a sad poem.  Its a poem filled with secrets, mysteries, borrowed love and soft memories of one stolen night  . . . . . “Take one fresh and tender kiss Add one stolen night of bliss One girl, one boy, some grief, some joy Memories are made of this.” Johnny Cash          When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few. Baubles of stolen kisses. Trinkets of borrowed loves. Trunks of secret words, I CRY. Maya Angelou