Where She Goes

Hell Hath No Fury.

I am afraid of falling in love with what will one day die

And become dust like the ruin of our cities

And the deserts of our seas

Could I stand to watch you grow old

As the December light turns the silver in your hair?

Could I hold your frail hand

And not wish to be young and warm again?

Or maybe I’m afraid I’ve fallen so far in love

That even death cannot save me.

Reviews

[la Abeja]

Beautiful. Old age is such a curse. Great write.