I search for a love I cannot find,
I’m silly and childish;
I should have ceased dreaming, used my mind:
What’s a hope, what’s a wish?

I must learn quick the way the world works:
Its functions and its tears;
At every corner a heartache lurks,
Amid practical fears.

The ways of love are varied I suppose;
A flower is still a flower:
What if it’s a tulip or a rose?
(All fade, hour upon hour.)

I can’t hold beauty longer to woo
Love’s eyes to look on mine;
I lose faith without much ado…
I bow and give in to time.

No questions now on the power of love,
Or self worth or courage,
No questions for any God above,
No dream, no peace, no rage.

All I am left with is the present:
A persistent and remindful ache,
Caused by the moon in her crescent,
And at home a quiet, soft heartbreak.


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