Old Address Book

I wish my old address book were still good.
Its pages as they were, not falling out,
and all those former names still mine to call.

Its cover in one piece, a crimson red,
holding itself together, like this green one.
I wish my old address book were still good.

And fading faces could be seen in full.
Less of the doctors, fewer offices,
and all those former names still mine to call.

In writing that is not too smudged to read,
the dear ones who have died would be right there.
I wish my old address book were still good.

Important ones, with hearts not yet grown cold,
would play important roles within that book,
and all those former names still mine to call.

That notebook's pattern, patchwork it was called,
friendly and cheerful, just the way it stood.
I wish my old address book were still good,
and all those former names still mine to call.


Mónika Mesterházi