Memory hurts – our hearts are stung
But sometimes I think the pain is for
Not a particular place but more
A special time – when we were young
For freer days when we knew hope
And what we felt we had was – scope.
I hardly dare to write. You open a door,
A pile of crushing cares stacked up behind it
Tumble on you, and smothers: the great store...
With light, in the world, in my heart,
To see you by, there’ll always be hope.
It’s God’s will: you and me...
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