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Poet To Poet
Without rhyme or reason I feel utter treason in the fact that you are gone. I sit here all the while with a phoney, plastic smile waiting for the dawn. Why was it my sin for my life to begin at a date too late for you? My ears hear stories told of a time now old from lips that are not yours. I long to touch your face and feel your warm embrace as we stroll 'long Paradise's shores. |
J. B. D. 11/1/96
Dedicated to Brian Donlevy; actor, poet, gentle soul.