Today's poem is by Timothy Liu
His were bulletins from the front nor promises of return.
Sometimes wine does not age well.
Must be drunk when young.
The petals drying on the sill but a song unto themselves.
And the rest of us looking on.
Had took his fill and split.
As the mind continued to sing the one song that it knows.
Copyright © 2006 Timothy Liu All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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