Lady From Last Winter

I ran across a line in a book the other day that stated a fact that I think rarely receives much thought. "More write poetry than read poetry." It is probably true. While going through my mother's belongings a few weeks ago I learned that, not only did she read a considerable quantity of literature, she composed volumes of poetry and opinion.
I wonder how many of us are closet poets. I think most of us probably attempted feebly in our youth when hormones focused our attention on that certain someone. But inevitably the inability to iron out clunky prose, the refocus of life brought on by embarrassment at our inability, and a certain coping mentality which caused us to put away the writing as being something silly or immature, turned us away from something that opened doors in our psyche that nothing else has been able to match. At times a song or a reading comes close to reopening that area of the heart but with instant resolve it is quickly dismissed.
So, I am going out on a limb here and will publish original works that have been used as lyric to original musical attempts.
Enjoy them if you are able.
This mornings piece is called "Lady From Last Winter"

Good morning,
Who are you?
I don't recognize your number and it's three AM.
Good morning,
You're texting,
A dream so full of color that you can't pretend.

Maybe it's the Lady from last winter.
I drove so many miles just to say hello.
Maybe it's the Lady from last winter.
I had a certain feeling, now I just don't know.

Good morning,
I need coffee.
I need to find my glasses to read these lines from you.
Good morning,
I'm with you.
I'm here all by myself and I've been dreaming too.

Maybe it's the Lady from last winter.
I thought I'd like to know her but she had a friend.
Maybe it's the Lady from last winter.
I really think I love her should I try again?