Is It Poetry
the secret of this love
But that was said and saying.
Does not the possession of it,
determine you it move?
Doing what you do,
does not make it bad at all.
It is thinking it in secret of this love.
And then although it moves,
always by you it's used.
I had always known that somewhere,
always you he knew it to.
Take your time do not move fast.
Because of this there was your distant dream.
Distant I and you somewhere,
to where it has to come not where it's gone.
Seeing you it seems the way is clear.
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966)
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