Jeff Bresee > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

but know this that when the day’s done...

No hand extends to measure time...

Looking out in both ways from the top of the hill...

When will it be that it’s my time to go?

But, it came again just like every June...

Sometimes the pieces all line up...

So then ask me. I'll tell you...

Sometimes love is easy...

And in its purest form love does not ask...

For all I do now days is sit, as if the clock stood still...