head down, hands in pockets
Another hour in another day
Passed by without consequence
Another life walks another way
Passed on without significance
Empty eyes and ubiquitous dismay
Souls bereft of magnificence
Stillness in longing for May
When spring has sprung with diligence
With winter's anchor aweigh
Death seems to have permanence
But I don't fear this day
No fear of insignificance
I only fear that I won't wait
For love to pay its severance
Posted by Hans Andersen
|
at
6:18 PM
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