The morning is gray,
the sky is lonely,
the morning is sad,
because you are not here.
The bed is empty
and all that is left
are the warm sheets
full of scent,
the scent of a love,
that was,
that is,
that exists
and it is real.
The morning is gray,
the sky is lonely,
the morning is sad,
because you are not here.
Posted by flybutterfly at October 28, 2004 12:04 PM