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9.4
/10
(5
votes)
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I'll tell you a sore truth, little understood
It's harder to leave, than to be left:
To stay, to leave, both sting wrong.
You will always have me to blame,
Can dream we might have sailed on;
From absence's rib, a warm fiction.
To tear up old love by the roots,
To trample on past affections:
There is no music for so harsh a song.
Anonymous submission.
John Montague
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Read poems about / on: music, truth, song, dream, love
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Comments about this poem (No Music
by
John Montague
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John Montague
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David Zvekic
(2/22/2006 11:01:00 PM) |
Some original motifs here. I liked them.
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John Montague
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