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FarewellHer dress is beige, roses in hand, Dimness in sight, haziness in my head. What is the matter lovelorn strand? I have no more hearts to shed. How often I've told you, my poor little heart, To leave the dreams of love for truth. To shield yourself against Cupid's dart, Once you're hit, no cure can soothe. Here you come to me once again, You come to me weary and weak, Mourning loud her farewell's pain, Asking me a cure to seek? Alas my dear, too late for cure, To break a heart is a legal crime. Your fatal pain you should endure, Until your sunset: the slumber of time. Her tears define the aches of heart, They wet her cheeks with rain of sorrow. My love defines when we are apart, I will not wait for tomorrow. Copyright ©1996 Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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