Thematic Poem by George the Great VIII

We have short time
To see each us well;
We have certain word
That cannot fix the past spring.
Not the word that can be pregnant with love
Trust or friendship
As a fact left behind
But as a quick goodbye we stay
And a logical sense to say
We should meet again.

Not so much to repeat
The flowing that melts
Somewhere in the comparable
Corner of this vast space
Away from us like these crudest
Winter drops lie ahead
But we try to link it by a hope
That, too, sweep us again.