The Hours

Sleeping on a bed made of only her dead flowers
Lost are the words, even less are the hours
Put it in your hand, now it’s yours with the powers
Every moment passed, falling deeper in the towers

Lost are the moments you still search but never find
Even with the perfect words, it will never be well-timed
Unless you are a girl, she will just leave you behind
You will never be the one that is ever on her mind

© Delia Ross. 2019


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