Tired of life, tired of death,
tired of the long languid hours
spent in the summer dusk,
tired of the short and fleeting
hours racing through
the quick winter days,
tired of things great
and tired of things small,
tired of life, tired of death,
yet they all come, walking
hand in hand, across the same
fields of snow and flowers,
as the cold winter moon chases
the dawn sun of spring through
the broken bowl of heaven.
23.04.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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