We wrote love letters on the grass
we walked upon, with hand on hand,
we spoke of all that it might mean,
and thought that we could understand
But love, that love, was so much more
than either of us then could know:
we wrote love letters on the grass,
for it, like love, could only
grow
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Tagged: Tags Autobiography Life Love Memories Poetry Relationships
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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