Forlorn old letters from the past compil’d,|
I endlessly could sense their moving phase
Sank deep below the ocean yet has mild—
Approached from where I stood, there was a trace.
O reaching still, alas! There's no allay—
Won’t compromise to smile though heavens will?
Along the countless sands thy failed to stay:
There is regret abiding to thine ill.
But what I've felt would be my misery
‘Cos time forbade such death I pity thee,
Art thou the owner of last poetry?
How skeptic I might be if fail to see.
So shall the half-less being to be share—
To an acquaintance crown O death forbear.
(C) 2019 Veronica Gray
© 2019 amberdusk
(All rights reserved)