No parting is complete without this,
a final address to my past muse.
After all the time we spent in bliss,
you sought the end with hard words to bruise.
To think I would never write these lines;
We said old age would see our care grow.
Is only second to frost my spine:
my loving acts which others won't know.
Your gaze offered no more truth than lies
you conceived to hide what we once had,
more than enough to bring this demise,
only worsened by your heart unsad.
You left me with no remorse, just hate,
the words you spoke revealed that clearly.
The trouble endured not worth the wait,
The promises you made so dearly.
Of summer plans, hand in hand, eyes locked,
all no truer than your care for me.
To think of all the times cruelly mocked
by your excuses to make me flee.
You hid our love from all ears and eyes,
we shared an act of such care, as one.
Yet nothing's known from continued lies
as I end my thoughts: with you, I'm done.

Yet dreams tease me with scenes I wished for,
despite anger I still care for you...
my first true love, love unfelt before,
which prompted these four lines to construe.