Time Is Our Enemy - Poem by Baris Bavkir
Seasons pass by while I still.
It is neither the zephyr, blowing shrill,
That gives me the thrill.
Nor the coldness of a winter chill,
Which makes me ill.
It is the time; with a relentless will,
That breezes through my window sill.
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Baris Bavkir's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You