Probability

The sky shows grey
The air smells of rain
This home is absent any memory
This mind is void of all sensory

There is moon but no champagne
Cold is remorse running in his vein
There is sound but no symphony
There is love but in its infancy

There is patience but he’ll refrain
And forgiveness he might entertain
Silence is my only company
Regret now a probability

© Delia Ross. 2019

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