Late Love

I, who was born to meet you
May have been given to the world too early
For I catch myself sitting on the park benches alone
On the edge as if leaving a space for you to fill
Quietly daydreaming of strolling
Through the silent places
Your breath a steady exhale
I can only do my best to live a gracious life
So I can meet you in the next
My head held high


Author: redgladiola

Creative writer happily predisposed to flights of fancy. You can find my poetry and short prose at

2 thoughts on “Late Love”

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