Is It Poetry
They Were Not My Everything
To see the moon for what you are.
The grass is green and blue the sky.
Is dark when you are thick,
the leaves the tree, I left alone.
My Everything your little fingers
pull and pushed away.
When the bottom is daylight.
Rain comes again without within.
There light did form and more.
I came to think you are.
And the truth the answer often is.
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Comments about this poem (They Were Not My Everything by Is It Poetry )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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