The Sky of Tomorrow
A late-night star may watch us as we wait
among the winter flowers frozen still
that constellation mapped out, desolate
upon your face, as written by a quill
If ever I'm to find another place
among the whistling grasses shifting so
all memories of our time you might deface
The time we shared was precious that is true
but time is only dear in backward view
Notes: I got nothin'. I'm like a week behind and writing nonsense in iambic pentameter.
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