Too Late Poem by soren Barrett
Too Late
The fruit has dropped, it lays on the ground
The plane has left, we're still airport bound
Look at the clock, its hands move too fast
The candle burns short, it will never last
Vultures are circling, an ambulance on the way
Your lamb left an hour ago with a wolf to play
You put on your glasses after you're blind
A trap door opens, the reprieve just signed
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9/1/2026 12:50:53 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
