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Spectator

Every minute that passes by
Seems to be another I've wasted
I think of things I've never done
All of the freedoms I never tasted

I never enjoyed a simple sunrise
Watching the colors dance in the sky
Never looked for shapes in billowy clouds
They just seemed to pass on by

I never listened to the robins' song
Though I imagine their song is sweet
I never pressed my hand upon my chest
Just to feel its tender beat

So many things I have missed in life
Perhaps I'll do them sooner or later
But I think as time slips away like sands
When, in life, did I become a spectator

~THE FLOWING PEN~
9-3-04





























 










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Spectator