Edythe V. Piccione
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I shall not love again, as in my youth,
Nor find the comfort of our middle age,
Yet from Life's book is missing one last page.
And now I must confess I hid the truth.
I could not let them hear your laboured breath,
Nor let them see your anguish and your pain,
Nor let them see my tears that fell like rain,
Nor watch me, as inside I prayed for Death.
I cannot let my feelings go; to grieve.
For since the death my whole world fell apart.
Now anger seems to fill my broken heart.
Why did you have to go? Why did you leave?
The pain goes with me; ...