We lived together, you and I,
Like strangers, who could never share,
Who never could together cry.
Why were we so ashamed to care?
My mother dead - you with no wife.
Sharing pain was never our way.
An old Crosby tune brought your pain to life,
And you turned from me as it began to play.
"I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places,
That this heart of mine embraces, all day through."
I pass behind you, remaining discreet,
As you stare out the front door, through the screen,
Feigning an unwarranted interest in the street,
Your moist eyes focused on something unseen,
Some moment past, with my mother, your wife,
Some summer evening of passion and play.
Silent, you weep as Bing sings your life.
"I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way."
Even now, from a distance of thirty odd years,
I see you still standing in that same place.
Silently keeping your secret tears,
Turned from me as they wet your face.
And ghostly and faint, I can still hear,
Distant, but clearly, the final refrain,
Of that maudlin tune from a bygone year,
That filled your heart with such wrenching pain.
"I'll find you in the mornin' sun, and when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you."
(Quoted passages excerpted from "I'll Be Seeing You" by Irving Kahal and Sammy Fain, 1944)
Mark A. Clark, 2000