Beneath This Tear, And Ached, Grass.
This tear shaped heart, that weeps for thee...
A chamber, sad, yet, longingly.
Along the miles, that had I spent...
Along denial, that way, I went.
Along the ways, gone awry...
By my, leave, by the bye.
Oft this heart, cried a tear...
For one love, never near.
Beyond the ways, left by me...
Be this, broken heart, emptily.
Abruptly, I sped away...
Sadder, than that, dawn, spent day.
Never, I, to return back, to thee...
A fond farewell, greeted ye.
I've made my pass.
Buried, beneath the, greenest grass...
Bid farewell, to my honey-lass.
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Comments about this poem (Beneath This Tear, And Ached, Grass. by Michael Gale )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(2 November 1994)
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