The brightest stars twinkle in their places,
In the cloudless, dark blue sky.
On warm earth the flowers lie
With a dewy sprinkle on their faces.
The breeze sifts in a soft lullaby;
A nightingale croons: “Not him, ‘tis I.”
The lover sits beneath a leafy bower
Reviving a memory,
Of what was destined to be.
Remnants of it fall in a wary shower;
Wisps of an immortal mystery,
Of what is to be or not to be.
Always so distant and never too close;
Neither the ground for flight,
Nor the question of might.
Always the sun gave way as she arose;
The same love at her fair sight,
The same moon for us at night.
I marked the time I was your only friend,
When you, all alone, knew not where to be;
I mark the time, now that we reach an end,
As you would want to think no more of me.
You needed someone near and I was there;
Funny! How I thought of you as so sad!
I reached out and showed you how I did care,
I knew you thanked me then and you were glad.
I marked the time. I mark the time again,
When you don’t see me as I pass you by,
My heart shrivels, but my pride doesn’t complain
And I know it’s fruitless to mourn, or cry.
But be sure when a heart’s broken by you,
Time shall seek yours out and break it, too.
edited 10th February ’08.
The rape of youth, by cruel fate and time,
Long since negates the sweetness of those flowers;
Betraying love and murdering the rhyme
Which tells of hope surpassing deadly hours.
Those flowers you gave to me are red, the red
Which’s all that’s left on a virgin bride’s bed;
Those flowers you gave to me are soft and bright;
Tomorrow, tell me, will they please my sight?
Will those petals shrivel and lose their hue,
Or will they remain so – to love just me?
Oh, no, do not reply. (I know those tears, too!)
Those dew drops upon those petals I see,
They fade, e’en now, before my wary eye;
‘Tis best not to know that e’en now they die!