A Time To Savour
What be of love if one was purged of thee
To claim a life of constant misery,
To wander lost a blind alley not free
Turned from once a flower to shrubbery?
When dusted away the shadows from time
Those that festered within a view so plain,
Yet not wanting to veer from daily grime
An act from Shakespeare as one did feign.
Like the first key of spring one did open
A cold heart locked in ridicule and shame,
To live in pretence of nothing broken
When thinking it were he the one to blame.
So never to curse the day that time took so long,
When written in verse becomes a beautiful song.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
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