You whispered those words in my ear
And they sounded like the feeling
Of us living in a tent
And waking up to watch the sunrise
While the fire that died last night
(after the plain remarks and mixes
of sorrows
were over)
Said its ashes are our past
And the people we met on that old
gravel road
Didn’t know our names
Or history because if they did
They wouldn’t want to write a book
about it
For people don’t want to read of
unsureness
Or regret.
Soo good!
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