I shall not write again.
For you turned out in the end
To be far from any friend
Whose hand he’d fairly lend,
My hurts and slights to mend.
But, instead, like all cruel men,
Who into open hearts they wend
By smiles and words that blend
Messages and acts that send
A naïve soul round the bend
Into the garden of love run foul with briars –
You stood revealed, a hissing liar.
Your kissing desires, surpassing sweet,
In a moment expire, and abandon
My soul to the wind in the street.
No more wasteful ink to spill,
No more grieving heart to bleed;
For any word you seek from me
You shall have the stars to read.
