I can’t have guessed that even pain will tire;
Sorrow, though not fleeting lacks devotion.
How sirens of fond hearts do now conspire
Against youthful prowess of emotion.
Profundity leads misery astray,
Away from pity’s unremitting gaze.
Sagacity faults not that bygone day,
And weakest flame sets yesterday ablaze.
Indian summers yield fine recollections,
Renewing scarlet tides of youthfulness.
Wane and ebb, they morph into reflections
Of yonder years so full of fruitfulness.
Make haste, life loses track of timelessness;
Inhale, exhale faint scents of lifelessness.