Copyright 2012 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain Productions

Sure t’is the morning of regrets

When memory doth not forget neglects,

And stabs the soul with a cutting stone,

And one finds they are all alone


Sure t’is a fine tormenting day

When memories come that should not stay

And pain fills the gutters deep

And the mind needs rest but canna sleep.


Sure t’is a hollow empty place that lingers in my life

And all about and there within I find a potent strife

That canna leave the peace alone

And hangs and falls as a heavy stone.


Sure t’is a haunted place I farewell go

And live as if the life were planned to be so

And yet the morning comes without delight

And I see my mirrored face anew,

in the shadows of the morning light.

May 5, 2012

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