Time Out
Time does not saunterIts a sprinter
That leaves you cold.
Hurtling headlong
Every scenic route
You`d prefer to have strolled.
And a love professed forever
Beneath a fleeting endless sky
Is condensed by the heavens
To the blinking of an eye.
Poetry by Yanto
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Written on 2015-12-28 at 13:11
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Lawrence Beck |
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