Olga was the breeze of late September,
she was the trickle of the water through the trees,
she was the passion of a Sunday,
and the smiles found on Monday,
... she was the ship of billowed sails on my sea.
Olga was the lightning in the twilight,
and the rockets on my pillows late at night,
she was the music in the spring,
she was the life in almost everything,
she was the yesterday, that is never quite in sight.
Olga was the essence of my dreams,
she was the sunshine that came bursting through the shade,
she was that sweet refreshing blast,
and the love of seasons past,
... Who may never know the hole that she has made.
Barry Van Allen
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/olga/
