For all the blame I can take

Nothing will trump loss

The call to which we have no power

but spineless, godless creatures

Begging for warmth, 

Clinging to the begone memory-days

of love youth, spring ephemeral 

cherry dew drops on the eve of sorrow, 

Sickness-clamor tricks of sight 

Dipping on the brow of age; 

Less wise of time to spoken merits 

leaves that drift on yellowed starlight

it is all the power I lack,

but a soft-bellied pleader to wandering

that I forgot to love you properly

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