The ballad of time's live-laugh-love
Flows in the undertow
Through ether tent of seasons spent
In living's high and low
Oh, I could sigh for days gone by
And wishes not come true
And I could weep for Yester’s keep
But what good would it do?
That begging bin beneath my skin
Though love pours out its gold
Is hollow still, against my will
And I am growing old
Inhale, exhale, a sacred grail
Filled with fresh vim and verve
Pours through love’s ache of give and take
Much more than I deserve
…though I could cry for days gone by
And dream’s futility
Life is too swift to miss the gift
Of what yet waits to be
© Janet Martin
Don't cry for days gone by. Celebrate that we did it. Make every moment so.
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