Everytime he thought of an end,
The madness returned to engulf him,
But end he must; and often he thought --
-- let the echoes of whisper kisses remain,
The frost on the leaves always be moist,
Let the dawn shower her with a rainbow,
and a smile put her to bed each night,
Let her dreams be a journey to heaven,
and when she awakes; let him be gone

She lay like a poem,
On a bed of verse he crafted --
-- from every breath that caressed her face
He dreamnt like a song --
-- and woke up to find his life, a verse

He missed the summer for the smell of a sorched leaf,
He missed the winter for the smell of ash from a burning twig,
He missed the rains for the smell of earth;
and the moisteness of her lips,
He hated the spring for the cheer it brought;
and the hope it killed