No Poem mends the bleeding heart,
Of ruptures, love had wrought upon.
Nor syllables express and part
That love with past their gone.

Why write then oh lovelorn friend
And poet?
Why stage your sorrows there?
Whom but within your pain shall know it
Whom even with heart shall dare?

Let know for sorrowed lovers that grief of ardence!
Your pain is shared
No heart is spared
Let words least mend the silence!