OK, I'm going to suck it up and post my first poem. It still needs proofed by someone who knows what they're doing, cause I sure don't 8/ (But please read it through and comment if you see fit)

This poem developed as I drew the accompanying picture and the picture evolved as I wrote the poem.


Remember Me


I found him on the beach one eve,

a lost kitten he did seem.

Alone and forlorn he was,

and just gazing out to sea.



I passed him by as I'd done the rest,

but this time I looked back.

I saw he was a soldier then,

medal and ribbons on his chest.



I went back to speak with him

to ask of his days of war.

I'll tell over dinner, he said,

if the wine is sweet and lights, dim.



Tours of duty, three he'd seen,

of heroics in battle he spoke,

comrades fallen, brothers all.

On him, nary a mark there'd been.



The light in his eyes then faded some

and a distant look did appear.

As he spoke of his fourth call,

he seemed to sense something to come.



He sat quiet now, his face wan

but finally spoke again.

Then his true self shown through,

the warrior, nay, but the man.



Ocean sunsets he did love,

and the golden leaves of Fall.

These things too do I, as well

as the solitary mournful dove.



Late it was when he walked me home

and thanked me for my time,

then kissed my cheek and turned to leave.

Never had I felt so alone.



So I called out to him

and asked where he was bound.

On the morrow, he said, I again go

to war and the battles din.



Up to him I went and said,

these last hours 'fore you leave,

spend with me, and I took his hand

and led him silently to bed.



The wee hours of morn came swift

and sated, we spoke little of import.

I asked him 'bout the ring he wore.

In reply, he made of it a gift.



I can't take, said I, this thing of gold.

'Twas Fathers and his before, he said,

so just wear it and keep it safe.

Till I return, yours it is to hold.



Sleep came, and I dreamt then

of his warm breath upon my cheek

and words whispered in my ear,

Remember me, echoed time and again.



With a warrior's stealth he moved

and rose to gathered his things.

Then disappeared into dawns first light,

the only man I've truly to loved.



I woke to the call of which we spoke

outside my window a dove did sing.

It seemed to mirror just how I felt.

In sorrow and loss, my heart broke.



I see him still, there in repose.

That memory will never fade.

Nor the thing he left there in his stead.

On his pillow, a single yellow rose.



Perhaps 'twas best he left that way,

as words would have come hard.

for somehow he knew, as did I,

there would be no other day.



The sunsets now, seem not as bright,

and Autumn leaves too pale.

To the mourning dove I still listen,

but all has faded since that night.



To have him back, I'd pay any cost,

for the kitten I had found

had filled a void none else could,

my kitten now forever lost.



Critique from someone with experience would be extremely welcome!
I love to write and I'd like to know where to begin to learn to do this stuff.