There is no home for regret
In the coming of our passing
No room for contempt
In my tender heart
No desire to curse you
With ill wishes
Or censor you
With electronic disses
Nor will a slandering word
Leave my swollen lips
There will remain honor in what we shared
When I speak of you
For to wield the sword of impulse and vengeance
Would tarnish memories
I choose to hold them gracefully
And remember the Queen with dignity
Feeding our souls with honey-coated kisses
From afar
© 2011 Keith Horton
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