My last goodbye
unspoken
hanging from my lips
like a ripe clementine
from its branch.
A good-bye too little
a good-bye too much
shakes my soul
and ruffs my hair
like the wind coursing through the trees.
The wind carries our song far away
never to return again.
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Dead Sentences
PoetryDying Poems, dead sentences. None of them will bring you near.
