I'm writing
by the riverside
as the last beams
of the moon subside

I drift on
as in a dream
lost in fantasies
and reveries

I feel dewdrops
on my head, falling
my hair is all stirred
by the wind in drifting

my heart is torn and weary
lost love revisits and is saying:
'  Fate did not allow our consummating
   let the past die--so, with the remembering'