My love was like a flower, always blooming,
I paid heed to myself, with much grooming;
to look the very best I could, for only you,
but that dissolved, when you and I fell through.

Now my love is like the dying cracks in sand,
that suffers from lack of rain on barren land;
like wilted plants, that wither on the stalk,
my heart's shunned by mute and empty talk.

Too late for saving rain, the very root has died,
by cold and callous ways you spoke and lied;
some love can still survive, but alas, not mine,
it all has lost its luster and its polished shine.

Yes, I feel like I'm the victim in this horrid tale,
but truth be told, that as both, we surely failed;
for a moment, for a time, it was simply grand,
but it was over when you never took my hand.

My love was like a rhapsody,  of that first kiss,
enveloped in a golden majesty of secret bliss;
but you displayed yourself to be a shallow rover,
and now, for all intents and purposes, it's over.