D.A. Woods

Before You Go.....

Can you hear me call,
why dont you hear until I fall?
When the next morning arrives,
you know the sun will shine.
so pick up your keys, your jacket and cigarettes,
blow a kiss to the one who loves his babette,
after all, the sun is going to shine.

Topic(s) of this poem: love

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Poem Edited: Friday, May 23, 2014

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