Apr 2021
Of all my regrets,
For Man is granted
Not a few;
Of all my regret:
My deepest wound,
My keenest loss,
Has settled there upon
You.
For Man is granted
Not a few;
Of all my regret:
My deepest wound,
My keenest loss,
Has settled there upon
You.
Life seems a cruel pleasure,
The likes of which
Naught can measure.
The likes of which
Naught can measure.
