Is It Poetry
In My Hands - Poem by Is It Poetry
In my hands already you have opened
too dance your delicate twist,
and yet those soft dripping sighs
are heard from me every where.
No one comes, why must I there go?
While the sun is but a dew dropp away.
And your eyes are now closed,
like two white doves.
I move ever closer away.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You