For those who never knew me.
The time has passed so swiftly.
The years seem a blur to my weary mind.
To those who know the history.
The truth is not a mystery.
The illusion silently withered on vine.
My days are short in number.
Gone are the days of summer.
Lost is my chance once young and so brave.
Taste not the fruit of sorrow.
Live now not for tomorrow.
A bitter seed harvest sprouts weeds on the grave.
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Comments about this poem (Lost Chances by jack green )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 January 1832 – 14 January 1898)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(November 1, 1871 – June 5, 1900)
(19 April 1928 - 26 December 2006)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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