Father time stood in awe
amidst July's fireworks
in January
as May melted
December's blanket
of snow.
Hope was harvested
in moon's birth,
fear was washed away
with April showers induced
by irish charm,
but leap of faith,
failed
in Yuletime dance,
killing softly,
three words whispered
through champagne kisses.

This has a rather sad edge to it, or did I catch that wrongly?












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this is just amazing. You have a real talent. Keep penning







45 old applause
