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Too Late to Pick Flowers

After life abruptly changes

To pick flowers for her
He got up before the sun
He tried to imagine
That it was a lot of fun

He remembered when he did that
Almost every single day
So very long ago
When everything was play

He wondered why he stopped
Did it become a chore?
Was his love replaced
By a desire for something more?

He wondered what was missing
What fell through the cracks
He thought his love was solid
But it somehow left the tracks

With the flowers in the vase
And a smile on his face
Her morning face told him
She was not in his space

And he was not in hers
He was outside looking in
The separation was complete
He could not undo his sin

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.
See All Of My Poetry in One Place Here

Earthling — Lifelong novelist & essayist — https://whitefeather.substack.com/

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