There's not much left here
any more
an empty bed
a shirt you wore
But I listen soft and low
I'll hear a song I use to know
and if the sun is shining right
I'll see your window filled with light
Tho it's for rent
it don't seem fair
that anyone should
trespass there
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Copyright Clara Keiper
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
an image painted with a sad stroke! lovely.