Hardened and crisp,
from the furnaces of time
Fanned over,
by winds of solitude
Love stands today,
holding my hand,
on His legs of whiter sands.

Which eyes
would see Him?
Which ears
would lip that tune?
Who can touch,
that wisp of smoke,
with fingers so few?

So don't ask
how I felt of her,
or what went wrong.
Coz He will reply,
and I shall smile
As you walk away,
casting my life
into cliched moulds,
of our sadly cliched times