Not Sure It's a Stout Poem Poem

Three many doubts

a million to one 

Unfinished business

Undeserved fun



Sound swells


Silence too


No laughs 


Empty zoo 



Days die


Flowers curl


Sweeps of weeks


Time turns sly 



And we stay here


Year after year


Tear after tear


mildly wildly 



quiet

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

easter

Papa Dearest and ...

Bye