Too Late Poem by Patti Masterman
Too Late
It's too late
No one was saved
The spirit's flown
The ghost is born.
A memory's freed
Where memories go
And mourners weep
But death sleeps on.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: memories,memory
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7/28/2026 12:51:03 AM # rel_20260727T173023Z_37e450e
