Heart was young and pure,
Till it met with your care,
Since our conversation,
Though had a sense of conservation
Entered in my heart with kind,
Making me instantly blind,
Never with future preparation,
since I was to your observation.
The flower you brought,
Became the source of thought,
On seeing a soul you caught,
Suppose to have it fought.
Voice was soft to hear,
But hard to bear,
Though was once a dear,
Still need to make clear.
Can’t answer your question,
No damn for your position,
Just wish for a life lead,
But worried, I might be pronounced dead.
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Comments about this poem (Young Heart by dechen lhamo )
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999)
(13 February 1879 - 2 March 1949)
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