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End of The Line

Rubbing mitts together on a cold morning

Awaiting the desert sun with puffs of warm breath

Longing forever without warning

The imminent will come, the past will have left

Rosy cheeks where you waited

Laughing as I ran and barely made it

Youth is as foolish as forever

But that’s how I saw you

On time becomes untimely

As the first of us to arrive will too

Surely be the first to depart

All those times I left you waiting

I regret that with all my heart

© The Sad Owl


Categories: poetry

Tagged as:

The Sad Owl

I'm just here. Until I'm not.

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