When you'll wake up that morning,
The sun's far from the sky,
With your head turned gray,
For all the years of growing.
Once with your sheen skin--
The smiles were all intriguing,
But no one would be looking.
It's only after couple of decades,
You learn all this fades,
And though you're now myopic,
Everyone would grab a chair when you speak.
The Fate Of The Inevitable
Ally Fred
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 04/26/2020
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Poem topics: sky, sun, head, skin, morning, speak, chair, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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