It seems I’ve lost my way amidst your chill.
Was only yesterday our love abloom
but your intemperance a wanton spill
of words as cold and listless as the tomb.
I’ve wasted quite away from your cold draft.
A sullen gray has settled on my head
and you, your frozen pauses, seem quite daft.
My heart endangered by your talk, instead.
Oh, rose of romance, bent amid the drift
I pray the sun will waken this cold trend.
Will love , now lost before your sullen shift
be gone and dead and never come again?
A warmer, kinder glance, a tilt or phrase
might yet, my icy sadness, you erase.
