And there we rest, her skin so cold,
My lover wine lies next to me.
The drunken haze is taking hold,
In memories, again I see
Her countenance of loving grace,
Her tender knife behind the back;
Both offering a sweet embrace;
Caressing touch of her attack.
That siren calls across the night
And sets these memories aflame,
To burn in kind with autumn’s spite
That withers on the bough of shame…
But then two mourning doves took wing,
Ascended slowly to the dawn,
Then perch once more, they start to sing,
Farewell to thee, that age foregone.
How serious we took that life
And played into the jester’s hand,
But our love, such bitter strife,
Was just a comedy too grand.
I cannot help but spare a laugh
At how two fools could run aground.
This diadem of worthless chaff;
Upon the brow, we two are crowned.