A poem by Lydia Rowlands.
Dreaming of the Goodbye
We two could have shared,
Had we known what foul Fate had in store.
To have held in our chests
Those stiff, stubborn words,
Swollen silence, our egos left sore.
To have swallowed all pride,
For Pride matters not
When true Time is the cap' at the helm.
Cruel and quick did she steer
Through the course of your years
To that distant, unthinkable realm.
Lydia Rowlands 
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