The sea is
to me
As to Yeats Inisfree.

still smile.
Your silence is a kind of
Yet, still I don't.
A name can be home to many faces.
There's more for me to see
The other way.
I know you more;
You could be the first point of contact,
They both were in love
Make of me, but
And she he;
With melancholy.
Shut;
Unsaid.
An impartial judge to this acquaintance.
Heat,
The words of then are bled.
As to Yeats Inisfree.
Do not be familiar to me.
For he liked her,
But you are self-interested and
If only for awhile.
I am no more than what you
But when swept in a drunken
From words that were left
As we age
But, at the end of the day,
They wish it were
to me
Our bodies decay;
****** upon my hand-crafted pedestal,
But it had to end.
It conjures memories, feelings
Grief,
'Cause I was glad to have known you,
Define me.
No less than how you
Our minds grow and
The sea is.
It's sad hearing yours, although I
and long forgotten places.
But keep your mouth and desires.