En'docho ho?
So often it runs,more often it hides,
taking each day in long, leisurely strides.
With each passing moment,
the more my heart laments,
showing that love isn't alwyas Heaven sent.
Leaving my pain behind,
then picking it up again.
So tired of always being left standing in the rain.
All love in life,
mine has held strife,
and many have bled from that jagged-edged knife.
Someone will come,
my life will carry on,
and maybe I will see that time can help, some.
B Heath Harris/(c) 2009
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