Juliet
Juliet, so pure of face and form today
Countenance as innocent as morning dew
But beneath the surface her own fears at play
No one knows the sorrow she is going through
She loved him but now that he has gone away
In her heart the sunny days have turned to gray
She will never let anyone know her pain
In time perhaps she will learn to love again
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014
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