Shadows On A Young Face.

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Remembered I about old folks in my young days I met,
They passed their days in occupation and business of many kinds,
Evenings they passed in gossips and radio drama and music,
Most slept little, when they slept they drove away ghosts with snores.

Always talked about their youthful days of games they played,
Love they sought Ah’, how shy they looked when about love spoke,
I passionately spent many days and remembered in regularity,
As nothing they did for the world to remember, long after they are gone.

One day, a relative of mine said “How wonderful poets are!” and recited,
A poem by a famous poet of folklore and love that caught my heart,
I looked through many journals of mine to see if any talent for poetry,
Nothing I found, still I wrote all I felt good in form of verse I chose.

Someday, someone who knows nothing may read and learn,
About me and all that I cared and all passion that made me write,
Oh’, they will learn about the love I felt and the love in honesty I gave,
They will know always in the folds of my heart she lived and loved.

How many men are out there who can boast about their love?
Talk, tango, and sex won’t make people lovers nor even people,
The sanctity of understanding, the passion to embrace that feeling,
The feeling of the soul senses cannot feel through love gained.

How many men are out there who can differentiate?
Between themselves and stud-bulls in southern farms,
Oh’, women of the world find the lover who can love,
And make you remember by the generations to come,

Or all the fake love slowly grow in your senses and soul,
As shadows forever upon your veil-less faces will show,
Darkness you will feel even in the best, divine ever gave.
Such a shadow upon your face I see, my dear, my dearest.

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