It's a bit late now to search for flowers,
The summer is in retreat;
Soon the cold north winds will blow,
Carpeting the ground with snow,
As slurred prints betray my dragging feet
It's a bit too late now for dreaming,
I don't feel up to the task;
All my dreams have gone unsung,
Bitterness befouls my tongue,
At last, I see Life without its mask
It's a bit too late now to seek love,
I wouldn't know what to do;
Would I even recognize
That crown-jewel of Paradise?
How would I respond to "I love you? "
It's a bit late now to try and change
All the wrong this world contains;
I'll pass that torch to the young,
Now that my Swan Song's been sung,
And the life slowly creeps from my veins
It's a bit too late now for most things,
I've relinquished all to Fate;
Yet, I swear by all the stars above
I want to believe I may yet love!
But I won't....... it's just a bit too late
Well, Lora, one can love without being loved, but that's a bit one-sided. You probably wouldn't be completely satisfied, but I think you've had lots of practice. bri
So, sing more loudly, Silly. The thought of blood flowing from your veins reminds me of the Red Cross.
'Unsung'? .. meaning: 1..Not honored or praised; uncelebrated. Or 2: Not sung. OR 3: Which has not been lauded or appreciated.
Somebody is looking for you! ! ! ! ! You'll find each other if you keep looking! ! ! ! That heart will race again! ! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You can love ME, but DON'T TELL ANYONE! ! ! : ) bri 5 stars and 3 stares. No stairs to climb.