Brooding
By J. F. Howarth
 

 

I have a tendency to brood
To brood on things long gone by
Things I know did make you cry
Regretting each and every case
As with each I come face to face
Ah what I'd give for the chance
To dry your tears and see you dance
To see your face so shiny, brave
As I sit here brooding o'er your grave.
 

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