Old Cry Poem by konye ori
Old Cry
Once a future of gold
Now a future untold
Behold- the sun is cold
and in sorrow we fold.
Behold- conscience is sold
and on cliff edges we hold
Oh, our cry is old
and in the same old mold
we fold.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: old,future,sorrow
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8/28/2026 2:49:56 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
