The sun sets
And night is at hand
Our lives, too, take a turn
And now at the threshold of life I stand
To take one last look
On the life once had,
Memories which were chreished
But will never be kept.
The aroma of coffee in the morning,
The smell of freshly-cut grass,
The sweet, innocent smile of a child,
The warmth of the sun on my face,
The feel of your skin on mine,
The sounds of a glorious day,
And every other remembrance
That captured life.
But nothing is permanent in this world.
We are all on borrowed time.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Wayfarer (18.104.22.168) -- Monday, June 23 2003, 01:41 am|
Yes and then the lender sends the repo angels after you.
|Ash (22.214.171.124) -- Monday, June 30 2003, 10:55 pm|
I love how u mentioned the simple things in life that most people do not appreciate until its too late.
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