Bill Yates Poet Free verse

Too Late

Too late, too late
When the last full blossoms
Of spring 
Have fallen to the ripe earth 
Too late, too late
When the river has run dry
And every song of the sparrow
Has been sung
Too late, too late
When the hue of sunset 
Has faded
Then, in that fading hour,
There will be forgetting 
And regret
Then a cry from the mountain
Will be heard
But the echo will not return 
There will be no return 
To the days of splendor

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