Of a Lover Lost, Forever more

These are the times that try men's souls.

When the fabric of one's being is rife with holes.

These moth eaten dreams, and half empty goals,

Pass away as we walk hand in hand through these wooded knolls.

 

I have a thousands things to tell you, but not the words for one.

If I tried I would have more than when I had begun.

So we will stroll silently away from the setting Sun.

We will see the fabric we had woven in a ragged pile, undone.

 

We may stop by a brook, to rest our poorly shod feet;

And drift back to the time when we first did meet

We will talked in cautious tones as though on an oft' trod' street

We may chat in this way 'till the Sun finds its seat.

 

"Don't leave me so soon" I will surely Implore

With a bitter-sweet smile you will glide to the door

As you vanish, I will surse you, my modern Lenore.

I shall hang my head; heavy and waery, to see you,

Never more

 

I will walk back to this hovel like palace that I call a home.

This palatial prison smells of mold, rot, and loam.

On a hard feather pillow I will lay my sorrow-cracked dome,

And promise solemnly to myself, and to the darkness,

"Never more"