Calendar

I counted the days for a starter,
I cross them out with a red marker.

I stand beside a lamp post,
Waiting for you is what I do most.

Happy faces for the red traces?
Woes that make chases?

Running water from the eyes,
It’s not even a good supply.

I’ll put everything in a vault,
But it wouldn’t be my fault.

I expect you to run away.
Now, I’m going back to the first day.

mypoetrysignature2

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