My wails of woe won’t bring her back.
They are for me; they sound the lack
Of any future touch
With her
Who meant too much.
I can’t defer
To some imagined promised land
The simple holding of a precious hand.
Short yet very meaningful… words most can probably relate to.
no matter, she understood and still
does, she is with
another and thinks little
of thee
probably
take heart
Twenty years have gone by; and, yet her memory scalds my lukewarm mind. Alcohol makes an affair better than it was.
Why is she burned
In heart and mind,
Who simply spurned
And left behind?
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