Is It Poetry
From the center of my heart your many lost songs.
From the heart of a single tear.
I am lost like you both apart one is beating.
Gone from our gentle childhood.
Which not until it grew like the sea on us heavy.
Like me, it is not possible to ever give it away.
One of my songs does not belong now to me.
However when light is from the moon, you I found.
And I again sleep at the evening of gloom.
When one moth goes there and here there to where.
The fruit when it's heavy is to ripe to fall.
I have known of no one like you of that.
Gentle a thorn a rose never picked.
You are seen hearing my heart, but I shan't.
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