And one day you will be weeping at my lone grave,
Recalling our moments, and what in you I pave;
The irritating, the merry laughs, the sorrys,
Then you would talk to me, telling my own stories,
But I would be faraway, gone above the stars,
Inside you will bleed, and leave a bouquet of flowers,
So enjoy what’s left of me, left of my lone heart,
Don’t know if I be here the next minute or hour.
The Poet: Mr. Craxout
The Weaver - Writer (@theweavrs) February 01, 2016
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