Sunday Morning
As you talk to me
Of cheery nothings
He sleeps beside me.
I can imagine her,
Looking over to you
When your mirth overflows
Its banks.
In indelible inks of the
Sweat of our exertions is
A message written on a wall
To deny and deny
And deny.
Oh so plain to see.
By Cerys
© 2008 Cerys
(All rights reserved)
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