needle in hays

The spirit of the flood. Spirits live everywhe...

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A needle at the bottom of hays,
Our love runs that way;
Where a chance of being together,
Is just a wish next to never.

Won’t find a place in time,
When I can call you mine;
There are gap of hays between us,
That no one could ever possibly pass.

If ever I could hold you near,
Then things would be good and clear;
But it’s very hard to find,
That against the world love-of-a-kind.

A great love without a way,
Is just a crazy game we play;
And no one could ever tell,
If there’s still love we can expect.

We are bound by endless love we have,
But religion and race separate us , my love;
There ain’t a thing I could ever do,
But believe in someday it’s still me and you.

Maria Ceniza Rivera Marcial Copyright ©2007

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This entry was posted in dreams and reality, essays, labyrinth of the mind, love and lost, Uncategorized, weepings of the heart and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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