I, who once opened my eyes,
Came to and rose again and sighed.
The trees were lifting leafless heads against the sky,
The crows and ravens let out not a cry.
Sweet memories should follow me,
As you should, by the bridal bree,
But we are not the same as once we were,
And time is not the essence nor desire's lure.
Still when I sleep I see your face
The eyes that met mine once, the trace
Of golden hair against your laughing mouth, your middling words
And somewhere in that past the cords
Of my own youth, a faded, denim, broken guise.
