Young in age but aged so young

Denied no hymnal yet to be sung

Against Her good nature, no heed to Her grace

Death stole a lamb with no wool to replace.

Placed in the Valley, taken tomorrow

A gifted shadow of endless sorrow.

Resorting to silence, melancholy state

Always too little, too little.. too late.

They’ll meet me where the sidewalk ends

Where the earth and concrete starts to blends.

In the land of infinite time and space

And once more I will see their smiling faces.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741