When Will You Think of Me

You think of all, with a tender heart,

A kindness vast, a selfless art—

But when, my love, will your thoughts be mine?

Your dreams, your sighs, your soft design?

You think of all, in gentle grace,

Yet my name fades in that tender space.

When will your heart, so full and kind,

Let my sorrow cross your mind?

You write a song for everyone,

But when will you write me one?

When will your stories, soft and deep,

Whisper the love I couldn’t keep?

You hold their hands, so warm, so near,

While mine stay empty, year by year.

And still upon my lap remains

The ghost of your touch, like gentle rain.

You sing your songs with every crowd,

But when will your voice call my name aloud?

When will your melody find its way

To my heart that waits, night and day?

You dwell in verses others write,

Yet pass my dreams in fleeting light.

When will your heart, so wild and free,

Dance once again — remembering me?

You hold their hands, yet mine you leave,

Still my soul refuses to grieve—

For even now, I feel you near,

Your hair’s soft whisper in my tear.