Too...
Too tired to sleep, too restless to do much less.
Too concerned with tomorrow to let yesterday get in the way.
Too much in Love to let my worries consume me.
Too late tonite...except to watch them in their state of dreams.
Too...
Too tired to sleep, too restless to do much less.
Too concerned with tomorrow to let yesterday get in the way.
Too much in Love to let my worries consume me.
Too late tonite...except to watch them in their state of dreams.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
Title | Comments | Submitted |
---|---|---|
Title | Comments | Submitted |
My Love | 1 | 03/22/2010 |
Time | 1 | 03/20/2010 |
Rambling Thoughts | 1 | 03/20/2010 |
Drive On | 1 | 03/20/2010 |
Scars | 0 | 03/20/2010 |
Impulse | 0 | 03/12/2010 |
Fools' Ideals | 0 | 03/12/2010 |
Catch | 0 | 03/12/2010 |
Time and Space | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Un | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Desperate | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Forever Love | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Kiss Me | 1 | 03/09/2010 |
Shades | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Call | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Fantasy | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Vacant Thoughts | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
Too... | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
untitled | 0 | 03/09/2010 |
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