Of course, soon you will grow cold
This love of mine
That you always doubt
Despite the passion
We always have,
Is not always strong
To keep you warm
Of course, you soon
Will grow cold as ice
In my hand and so soon
You shall melt like
Water slipping through
My fingers,
I am ready for this
I have kept the other
Hand warm to hold
My other hand when
The night gets
Colder and you are
No longer there.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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