The retreating lights,

in your eyes.

Sleepy, worn dim.

Like extinguished coals.

Crushed by unreachable goals.

Lips like logs diving

in a dreary swamp.

Pulled down,

a sad frown keeps

your protruding nose

projecting gloomy shadows

on your pale face.

Regret I do,

I made you feel blue,

‘Cheer up, be the sun to an old beggar’s plea.

Your promise will outlive me.’


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