A Story to be Told

February 10, 2009
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As I wonder through this place called life I think of how inside I'm cold.
Will I be this way when I'm old?
Maybe, I'm just a story not yet told,
But how is it that I might be like this when I'm old?
When the rain begins to fall.
I feel no feelings none at all.
When I see the red streaming,
I don't even begin screaming.
So why I lay myself to die,
I finally begin to cry.
Could it be that I didn't try.
Did I just let it walk on by?
How could I be so blind to see?
For now I know I'm complete,
Because he was perfectly made for me.
He makes me smile brighter than the northern star.
Makes me know he'll never be too far.
That rain will never make him stray.
For I'm his reason to always stay.
So I pray that we never part,
Because we were made for each others heart.
For now I feel the rain,
And know that red was not meant to stain.
For I'm not cold,
And never will be when I'm old.
For he makes my story told.

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