Things Forgotten Poem by Diana Vitaliyevna
Things Forgotten
I walk slowly, thinking of the past
thinking of how the wind blows,
and wakes me up inside.
I walk slowly past the street
the street that we used to walk
slowly on, holding hands
while the wind blows,
and wakes us up inside.
Now, I walk slowly with my head bowed
down, without you by my side,
with that wind blowing in my hair
I try not to cry, while it rips me up inside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/29/2024 8:48:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
