Your heart a grey sky scenic quaint
My brushes too cold unable to touch
Your fragrant sky now dark as storms
With stars like broken glass finely crushed

And I, and I, a dusty grain
In of a field of sandy wishes warm
Found nothing but a sharp memory pain
In the heel of my mind there sticks your thorn

Like tress unborn of acorn hopes
And buried wishes beneath dead stones
There rise and fall in the mind of see
Having since seen my dawning home

Peaking above the wavering trees
There our path beneath ever separates
And in turning hearts now etched in grey
Sketched out an open talk

Just to say that this is one of the many places
Though we once traversed, we will not walk