It’s ancient loves that ache the hardest,
It’s long-lost loves that throb the most,
The young in self-woe quite the proudest
Soon perk and chase another boast.
But age which glims like some faint ghost
Only recalls those years the saddest
When time by some girl’s face engrossed
Was endless and its joy was loudest.
Now tears and sickness, all that’s rudest,
Batter your ebb sands like a coast,
Those loves bestrew your grave the widest
Which gapes to be their death-deep host.
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© May 2016
