Bright her face upon that day and
Light the touch of silken hair, like
Mist in May, when first we met and
Kissed in flowered fields and swore that
We would snare the sun and keep him tame.
See how dark and dry these days drag
Out. We sit and sneer at Love’s
Sad rout with hate that gnaws in guile and
Lies. Ah, ash in veins and dust in
Eyes – all embers now where once was flame.