Saturday, November 4th, 2006
In place of words that are work to ryhme,
I would have your sweet ardent time.
In my heart there lives a song that cries,
and weeps for a time when end sighs.
In that place for lack of time,
we ne’er will fret nor pine.
In that eternity of enraptured bliss,
a moment encapsules an eternal tryst.

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