Darling, make the most of me
for I fear I'm about to die-
the winds have ripped me ragged
and the words are running dry...
The morning's are so very nice,
the evenings not the same.
I think about so many things-
somehow, it gets me by.
For now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this is a desperate appeal. the winds have ripped me ragged and the words are running dry. a good write