Out Of Mind Poem by Edwina Reizer
Out Of Mind
We die a little bit every day
but never start to mourn.
We're so intent on all the living
that we do from when we're born.
But life is a fleeting second that ticks
and mourning is too sad.
So we meet the future forgetting the tick
that will stop the life we've had.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
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4/24/2024 2:31:15 PM # 1.0.0.1119
