Perfectly Immense

It was a perfect winter day,
When you and I went out to play;
For you were eight, and I was ten,
And everything made sense.

But ten years later, there we stood,
Upon the edge of something good,
A something somewhere out of reach,
A past and present tense —

It is a perfect autumn day,
With little more that I can say:
I heard you’d gone away, and thought
This world is too
Immense

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

3 thoughts on “Perfectly Immense”

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