The cards to play are in my hand

This hourglass is filling up

With each grain of sand

 

Each one a little more pertinent

Than before

Adding to the tragedy

Of this untimely flaw

 

Where is the rapturous love

With whom I passed

Many blissful days?

Did her love weaken

And with the grains of sand

Wash away?

 

For what has been lost

May never be absolved

And yet Love’s sweet residue

Remains hidden within the folds

 

Never to be touched

By the hands of another,

Else she lies resplendent with deceit

And I, her destitute lover.