Long ago  my pride was abandoned
And Love's beggary became my art,
Just a drop of Love - a brief romance --
Has amply sustained this starving heart

Amorous overtures still put a blush
Upon the face of this wilting rose --
Praise my beauty . . . write me a love poem . . .
Spring will be mine though winter's wind blows

With what eagerness I would devour
The love poems you might hastily scrawl!
My starving heart would forego the feast,
Finding comfort in the crumbs that fall

Though meager the trickle from Love's spring,
The parched heart gives thanks with solemn prayer;
And even pity, wearing Love's mask,
Would banish the demons of despair

What darkness enshrouds the lonely heart
Until Love illumes it with its flame,
Even the embers of a flawed love
Will lend their pale glow to this sad game

Though Fate often stoops to treacheries,
Pity me not for what might have been;
I find solace in Love's fantasies . . .
Tangled in the lovely webs they spin