THE DUSK IS LATE

The brief duration is drawing to a close;

If reversible I’d have wasted time rewound.

The early December sun is on the rise

Events of recent months are still heavy on my mind.

Parting is always bitter and desperate

We stand mutely our faces washed with tears

The flowers bend their heads, the dusk is late

Our budding love will drown our hearts for years.

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2 thoughts on “THE DUSK IS LATE

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