Lady with the frilled blouse And simple tartan skirt, Since you have left the house Its emptiness has hurt All thought. In your presence Time rode easy, anchored On a smile; but absence Rocked love's balance, unmoored The days. They buck and bound Across the calendar Pitched from the quiet sound Of your flower-tender Voice. Need breaks on my strand; You've gone, I am at sea. Until you resume command Self is in mutiny.