There she goes.
Skipping the stairs like a five-year-old,
Like she always did.
I can see her now
Smiling to herself
But her eyes so sad,
Last time leaving this place.
And with her gentle hand
She closes the door
Of her beloved home,
Lifting the old bag on one shoulder.
She is not running away.

With a glimpse of her look,
She kisses the lilies goodbye
She loves the entire garden
For the last time.

She is not running away.

She closes the gate
But leaves it unlocked,
Turns around and almost-
Checkes the mail-box.
Letters that will never be written.

Here and there
I watch her make her way
Away.

But no, she is not running away.