Poezie
My love is still here
1 min lectură·
Mediu
Red rose, red rose
As pure as love it self,
White roses as the light of
Your sweet kisses.
I felt once the window
Of you heart open
Oh, I remember that day,
Like it was yesterday?
No more tears, and
No more dreams,
Just a poor illusion,
It feels like the bitter taste of wormwood.
So this been told
Of what could have or should of
A strikingly sad, pathetic
Letter of sorry!
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