The short of love and the long of suffering,
It becomes a thing that one forgets.
Remembered again, then one says: I know,
It was at the time not to be avoided.
Does one the confinement sometimes envy
Compared to this absence of pain?
And yet, short love and longer suffering,
It becomes a thing that one forgets.
Life’s erstwhile hot and colds
One begins to see as time goes on
As the slipping away of but an hour.
O youth, was this why one cried out?
One becomes a thing and one forgets.
(Jakobus Cornelis Bloem)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Life Poems, Time Poems, Youth Poems, Pain Poems, Suffering PoemsBased on Keywords: colds