Penelope

When October rain and the hissing
of tires on city streets
and a skelter of sparrows at my feet
are no more than the omens of autumn
and the palsy of loving has fled;
when only a blanket and shivers
can warm me in my bed,
I will let you go and forget;
I will rest and be free of you then.

But until the white wings at my temples
unfold and then close over me,
I will wait for you awhile yet.
Love, I am saving my pennies for your eyes.

Copyright © 2008 Michele Newcomb All rights reserved
from The Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission