How sad it is that we're apart, to live a life estranged,
You will only find me broken, my heart is truly pained.
How sad you cannot do it, instead owned by what you fear,
Forever you'll be searching, for something that was here.
How sad it is you've let it go, now our time has passed,
If only you could be more couragous, so that we could last.
How sad it is you cannot see, what ignorance of fate,
Now all that's left is two souls, incomplete left in this state.
How sad it is you decided, I was not allowed a voice,
Two beating hearts that now must live, with your lasting choice.
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Comments about this poem (Your Choice by Annie Copper )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(31 March 1934 – 31 May 2009)
(January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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