Listening to every heart
Bobo [the original poem, circa 1968]
My girlfriend came to me yesterday
and I felt sad as I heard her say
her best friend had gone away
and will never come back to stay.
I remember, too, of such a time,
when I had lost a friend of mine;
often I wonder, oh very often
how she’s doing in her heaven.
I remember, with a sad smile on my face
how she’d come to meet me after school.
We’d run together at a fast pace,
which became our daily rule.
When I’d get in trouble, I’d run to her,
hide my face and cry in her fur.
She’d never scold me, but stayed near,
her sympathy to me was ever so clear.
When I had a secret, I’d confide in her,
while softly stroking her golden fur.
She understood me more than anyone realized
I knew this when she smiled with her big brown eyes.
She never told me she was getting old,
she was always just as precious as gold.
But one day, when I was about eleven,
Mom said “Bobo will soon be in heaven.”
I thought it was mean and cruel
because I didn’t want it to be true.
I ran to my friend with a mournful cry
searching for an answer in her brown eyes.
She looked at me and then
I suddenly knew that when
she decided she’d have to go away,
nothing, and I, could not make her stay.
I knew where she was laid to rest,
but the place I like to think of best
is the place, under the old willow tree ~
where I still tell her secrets,
and she’s there to listen to me.
28 September, 1999
Look, then, into thine heart, and write ~~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow