The sand beneath my feet whirls away,
sweeping me off in a sway.
On the floor, I lay,
as my grief is in bits, gradually fraying.
I stifle a chill as the breezes go hay,
the sun grows cold and gray,
on a thick cloudy day in May
with no hope and no sun rays.
Loneliness pries my soul and I pray
not to be the stranger coated with flay.
Yet, the pain feels like minted spray,
like the one whose beloved went astray.
But I’ll strive to keep my countenance gay;
keep cowardice far from my pathway
and give second chances a little foreplay
because there is a pain in every gained pay.
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