Dear, You Should Be Near

I am missing someone. So here is my poetic license

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Oh, what a sickly strange morning it was,
Milkman delivered a bottle of cold beer.
I saw a blue bird flying through the window,
It sang a sweet stanza I could barely hear.

The sun rose, tall trees shuffled in the wind,
Afternoon was no better, I could only fear.
I searched shapes of hopes, felt much worse,
How do I explain my plight—I am not a seer.

As the clock galloped, I waited and waited,
But I could feel only the spicy touch of a tear.
Then I saw through the blanket of loneliness,
The terrible truth is—Dear, you should be near.

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