In the wee morning hours, I think of you.
Before the sun has risen.
Before the birds sing their first notes of the day.
And I wonder where you are at and if you are alright.
I wish I could see you again.
I wish I could take back the things I said.
But perhaps it wouldn't matter.
Perhaps you would have left anyway.
Still, I have my regrets...
Copyright © 1999 Heather Bahnmaier. All Rights Reserved.