THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT TO SAY
What more precious is there to posess
than memory?
Which sweeter thing enriches us more
than a taste of the past?
Love may seem soft and tender,
and seem to ever last,
understanding can offer comfort,
can read your mind so fast.
But what’s left?
What’s left when years take
what’s entitled to them?
When they take life,
when take love,
what’s left then?
What more precious can you posess then,
than memory?
Reacties op dit gedicht
| Kimvsw: | Woensdag, mei 21, 2003 10:17 |
| oeps; foutje! vierde laatste regel: moet dus 'when THEY take love' zijn en niet 'when take love'. Scuza!! |
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Over dit gedicht
| Auteur: Kimvsw | 
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| Gecontroleerd door: caroline | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 15 mei 2003 | ||
| Thema's: | ||