Poem Hunter
Poems
Late
NH ( / London)

Late

The hour may be late,
But the heat of te day,
Remains with me,
And the life of the day,
Clings to me,
Never letting go,
Letting love absorb it,
Trying to stay at that state,
But the hour is late.

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Comments (1)

I enjoyed this, it is evocative, and I hope you might consider extending it?