I have nothing to say on here anymore, so to keep it going
I'll try and post a poem a week, here's the first...
A Quoi Bon Dire... by Charlotte Mew..
Seventeen years ago you said
Something that sounded like Good-bye;
And everybody thinks that you are dead,
But I.
So I, as I grow stiff and cold
To this and that say Good-bye too;
And everybody sees that I am old
But you.
And one fine morning in a sunny lane
Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear
That nobody can love their way again
While over there
You will have smiled, and I shall have tossed your hair.
KRO
