Wait till next year
Earlier stalks the present,
Which turns to hope each Winter.
Always looking to shake,
but never able to run.
Four words that haunt.
Four words that give hope.
Thousands share in misery
Looking for ecstasy.
101 grows to 102,
with no end in sight.
Is this the year?
Alas, we still wait for next year.
No comments:
Post a Comment