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Perhaps I should not speak of love at all,
it seems my every thought lacks consequence.
And though I'm tossed by breezes I stand tall,
pay homage to soft shadows sadly hence.
I'll care not if my hopes and foolish dreams
of you and joy eternal are but smoke;
from forests burned and cinders clouding streams,
my misery's a singed and blackened cloak.
Still, memories have origins, it's true,
and sadness owes a nod to bliss, you see?
What would I know of love if not for you,
but ashes are your final legacy.
You're gone, and sorrow reigns, but yet I yearn,
like smoldering of embers seek to burn.
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