Forlorn old letters from the past compil’d, I endlessly could sense their moving phase Sank deep below the ocean yet has mild— Approach from where I stood, there was a trace. O reaching still, alas! There's no allay— Won’t compromise to smile though heavens will? Along the countless sands…ends of the bay: There is regret abiding to thine ill. But what I've felt would be my misery ‘Cos time forbade such death I pity thee, Art thou the owner of last poetry? How skeptic I might be if fail to see.
So shall the half-less being to be share— To an acquaintance crown O death forbear.
