Dear John
I think we're out of time.
I guess I won't cry
my eyes still feel dry
You're not fighting it.
Our ten rounds must be up.
But, when the gloves were off,
we spoke the truth.
beared it all, but never saw it through.
My mind still floats
between relief and regret on this subject.
We both took our low blows,
and stepped out of the rink,
only to jump back it.
Copyright © Ruth Fatzinger | Year Posted 2007
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