I love you Anne though forty years have passed
And I’ve not heard a word of you in all that time.
The little girl I knew has grown into a woman.
Cold calculation tells me that you’re fifty two.
Married I assume, a mother, possibly a grandmother.
The sylph of youth now gone with grey encroaching.
Yet one’s essential essence, rock-like, resists time.
You are the girl I loved and love. That cannot change.
I was so shy, uncertain. The boarding-house sheer hell
Except for you and those interminable cheating card games.
Some might think that our relationship was much too close,
Even dangerous. The youth eighteen, the girl just twelve,
But philea, brotherly affection, were the bonds not eros.
You were to me a darling little sister, be it adopted
You were a sweet child Anne, unaffected and outgoing,
Somewhat naïve but goodness personified. I love you Anne.