Where You Were Late

That there are worse things done than
if two sleep, forever one alone.
Forever is to often naught kept seperate seems to make.
And this is realized then and softened moist
of earth and wooden clay.
It is late one early sunday, morning, afternoon.
Worse than nothing less there's nothing more
that you can ever take or never do and when.
She said one night I left for you and you were never late.

by James McLain

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