The Spring spreads one green lap of flowers
  Which Autumn buries at the fall,
No chilling showers of Autumn hours
  Can stay them or recall;
Winds sing a dirge, while earth lays out of sight
Her garment of delight.

The cloven East brings forth the sun,
  The cloven West doth bury him
What time his gorgeous race is run
  And all the world grows dim;
A funeral moon is lit in heaven's hollow,
And pale the star-lights follow.

hope everything is ok with you on your side of this map that you have made for us
"voicemailbox is full"
"text not delivered"
i don't know how else i can tell you that everything is not fine with me
and i haven't slept in weeks
and the sight of your pictures don't make me smile anymore
and i've already started readying my battleships for the nuclear fallout that i can tell is inevitable
and your side of the map is no longer familiar territory
it's overgrown and the walls you've built are bulletproof
when did our peace treaty become null and void, love?
at what point did you decide that your side of the map didn't need our alliance?