I have, a comfortable pillow, That’s all, encased, in red,
I just, can’t use the thing, to, support my head,
Memories, prevent me, from even, trying, to sleep,
For, though the past, holds me, The love, I have to keep.
As, I look, at my pillow, and the memories, it holds,
I think, of the laughter, and the life, it seems, we’ve sold,
Such, a very simple thing, though painful, I can’t help, but smile,
This pillow, will go unused, it can hold, my tears awhile.
When my angel, comes back, to me, this pillow, will remember,
How, my baby, lost her way, in the month, of september,
Already, it has been, a month, and still, the love, lives on,
Even though, she’s not here, I close my eyes, and she’s not gone.
The stains, that are on, this pillow, speak, of the past,
Substantiating, the feelings, that, this love will last,
Life, gave us love, that time, will not erase,
And when, my angel, comes back to me, I’ll change, the pillowcase.