A Portrait of Us
A pocketful of crinkled hope
and all the midnight yearnings...
As feathers from a bird of flight
increase his chance of landing
A tattered loyalty displayed
although it’s old and torn and frayed
A masterpiece in darkest blue
the eyes in the backround belong to you.
A mind distilled with tolerance
and dealings kept on ice
If you could turn the crags of time
backward it would be nice.
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