I remember,
there was a time;
the triumph for our kind
when we were still fine:
a heaven-sent rhyme.

I remember,
there was a time;
when our rhyme
was no more
than a yore: heaping
our seams of bore.

I remember,
the heaven-sent rhyme
that was, is now no more;
for neither you nor me
can never leave love be.

The night was sallow,
shrieking out of our sorrow.
The moon saw us collide:
we were trapped in our pride.

The moon did not consent
when she lulled us to sleep.
While we were fast asleep,
she wept to our vast dissent.