This is where she moves and breathes
and has her being
and thinks and reads and writes
and lives her secret inner life
and this is where she sleeps;
Where I now sit in staggered unbelief.
And this is where,
I wish it were not so;
And yet I wish it were,
if I could be here to comfort her.
This, is where she sometimes weeps.
jerry hughes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-6/
