There's No Such Thing As Goodbye
Like a Will bequeathed to me
seventy years or so too soon
Such nocternal delicacies
silencing an empty room
A chorus of crickets, of tawny owls
entertains the banal dusk
I illustrate this life with vows
however misunderstood as lust
So take this pen, its dying ink
for I have no further demons to exorcise
The sailing vessel surely sinks
once its grand voyage has expired
But rest assured, my dear sweet friend
the fabric of our souls, though torn,
shall weave themselves a stronger thread
All things that die are soon reborn
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