Sunday, July 31, 2016
Never Comments
Rating: ★0.0
It never happened, it never came; it never matured to be,
This existence or proof that I longed for, of you and me,
I looked for any hint, sort of type or a shadow of sign
Of these promising together hours; smiling, flickering, an instance shone,
...
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8/21/2025 2:38:09 PM # 1.0.0
A beautiful poem, Nero. Thanks