What becomes of us
when the hours all run out?
I want to look back
and not harden into salt.
Not be embodied in grief.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
What becomes of us
when the hours all run out?
I want to look back
and not harden into salt.
Not be embodied in grief.
I am old now
i can say to love
is also to grieve
to live
is also to have
the bad with the good
to see the ugly
and the beauty