Too Late Poem by Terence An
Too Late
You found her over the hill,
You found her past the woods.
Your Youthful mind joys to ask
To walk the long way if she would,
Smiling with you, back to home.
As you approach the adored
Bounding through the snow,
The dove has seemed to flown
Your gait begins to slow
And dead, stopped by her hand
For in it held his hand.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
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5/11/2024 8:52:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
