By
Dew Jemima Wilson
I fold the paper, soft and neat,
With trembling hands and restless feet.
Each crease a whisper, faint and small,
A fragile truth, a careful call.
Dear friend, these words are not enough,
To hold the weight of love, so tough.
Yet here they rest, in ink and light,
To bridge the silence of the night.
Follow the link for more on this sad love poem
No comments
Post a Comment