As if the night had stolen all of her kisses,
she languished in the sadness of the brokenhearted.
She remembered the skylark rise of their love,
ascending to the passion of its rhapsody in flight.

One rose held tenderly in her delicate hand,
a pink rose given to her as his last loving gesture.
How could she live without this heavenly bliss?
How could she fly with her wings clipped?

Sunbeams danced off each of her golden tresses
as the light played off the pale fragility of her skin.
Would she ever see his handsome face again?
Would she ever again live in his castle of passion?

But the night had stolen away precious kisses,
kisses that were kept inside the pages of yesterday.
She recalled how he had said their love was everlasting;
yet all that remained was the tattered dreams of what was.
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