Ah Now this happy month is gone

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Ah, now this happy month is gone,
not now, my heart, complain,
nor rail at time because so soon
he takes his own again.

He takes his own, the weeks, the hours,
but leaves the best with thee;
seeds of imperishable flowers
in fields of memory.


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    One Response to “Ah Now this happy month is gone”

    1. this poem is funey

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