From the parched lips of a dying past
Breaks forth the plaintive cry of love-
A stifled tremor at twilight’s cast
reaching to vacant skies above.
The tender bruise of graceful flower
May heal in the dew of a new day;
But a soul smudged with tearful showers
May ne’er again rise to walk love’s way.
When the visage of rejection’s slight
Hovers atop in baleful glare,
No moon nor gleaming stars of the night
Can cheer the heart with hopeful stares.
There is a silvery string unbroken
In the grey clouds deluged with dismay;
A conciliatory plea unspoken,
Till a noose ties and last chance decays.