Worth

The day is gray and wet;
I place a candle here.
I neither can forget,
Nor can remember clear.

The face, it starts to fade,
The voice, it dies away;
I struggle to take hold,
But all is in decay —

For though we light our lights,
The years win out, at last.
The losingest of fights:
Our battle with the past.

But I will not give in,
Though, sure, at last, I’ll fall —
For I loved and was loved,
And that was worth

It all

Author: Owen Servant

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

One thought on “Worth”

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