A poem about that feeling you get when you don’t want to admit that the good times are over.
The good times
Are not yet gone,
Not yet withered,
Not yet done,
Not even lost,
Not ghosts of better days,
Not faded to grey nor
Broken away.
The good times
Are not yet at an end,
Not over,
Not a cause to spend
Time worrying
About what we might have
Missed.
So think about this:
If the good times
Are not yet gone,
Not yet withered,
Not yet done.
If they are not ghosts,
If they are not yet at an end,
Then how come we
Can not find
Them?
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