We are like Flowers in the field,
Scorched as time floats.
Our very end detached from experiences,
To the core of grievances.
Rid us of ourselves,
Provide all our cares.
Soon too soon we'll be gone,
Like fired smoke from a gun.
Soon Too Soon
Emmanuel Shadrach
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 05/26/2021
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Poem topics: time, field, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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