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Sometimes he gives me comfort
For the memory of you,
Although he never knows it
And I hope you never do.

Sometimes he is a puzzle for me,
Something to think about;
Something to keep my mind off you,
To help me live without.

Rarely does he even smile,
But as long as he is there
To be a source of wonder for
My mind, then I won't care.

Sometimes I feel guilty for
He means nothing to me,
Though still I'm thankful for all these things
He never meant to be.

The way he battles thoughts of you
Is like a game of chess--
May the King knight thee, o soldier,
May he lay thy soul to rest.

Author's Notes: This is a thank-you poem to someone...so you're not really supposed to get it. But hopefully it makes enough sense. And um...please do excuse the regression to archaic language in the last verse...but it was to show respect, not to be corny. *laughs* Though I know it sounds that way.