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When love was young,
and high above the earth it soared,
laughing at time, a fragile wisp,
a tryst of two, bound by its cord;

When love had not attained
such skills as it requires;
and seems to burn eternal,
those all-consuming fires;

Then comes obliteration,
a scattering of all known joy,
in infancy the tempest storms,
assailing both lost girl and boy.

Beware the frosted gales of grief,
the ogre greets a sullen dawn;
asunder then, a love be torn,
as youth and dreams dissolved, move on.

By Metaphor

© 2019 Metaphor (All rights reserved)


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