I Can Miss Poem by August W. Landing
I Can Miss
Bones are roting as the flesh.
You were prettier when alived.
I shall not recall the smell
Nor the joy thy brow deprived.
I shall say and sing and tell,
Of the mid-noon you arrived.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: joy
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8/28/2026 8:32:00 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
