At the edge of the forestThe path I take is the shortestthe old memories fadeNo longer will we be afraidOf broken dishesforgotten wishesHoarse voices over serious mattersWe realized the patternBut why do I avoid this house long after?I guess each blade of grass fulfills it's namethat this love is no longer mine to claim
At the edge of the forest
The path I take is the shortest
the old memories fade
No longer will we be afraid
Of broken dishes
Hoarse voices over serious matters
We realized the pattern
But why do I avoid this house long after?
I guess each blade of grass fulfills it's name
that this love is no longer mine to claim
What is the sum of 11 and 11:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.