I get the feeling there is something more But squalls outside, winds that tear Through patched thoughts you bequeath, A wary (wan?) fist of times gone by— What you said, what you did Lay in the …
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I get the feeling there is something more
But squalls outside, winds that tear
Through patched thoughts you bequeath,
A wary (wan?) fist of times gone by—
What you said, what you did
Lay in the shallows, not forgiven. (Beginning?
Or left over?)
So we stroll arm in arm
Sure to dash times gone by—wild
Site maybe, wild side—not forgiven, (or forlorn?) love—
We beget, as life’s mysteries—unfold
As somber treasures we behold
The depth of love knows no bounds
No judge, no sanction, no funeral pyre—
I pass this upon you so to let you know
I love you, love you so—
Yours, heart and soul—Harold.
PS. If you can cipher this
You get the golden star.
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