If my tomorrows were in summer's reach
I'd sail this day, on waves of bitter wine,
towards a newer dawn, on bluer beach
for ocean sprays, sting none to lover's brine.

The amber heated sky should melt her cold
that frozen 'neath my eyes her parting words;
another's light has won her love's remold,
let then each phrase be fed to hungry birds.

The Gulls can stomach salt I cannot bear
for they're accustomed tasters in disdain,
and pine for greater feasts, for I not dare,
but castle sands, and hide my love's domain.

Tho' if no love, there'll be no summer's day!
For all will be as bleak, as is, today.