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Indulge no more may we
In this sweet-bitter pastime:
The love-light shines the last time
Between you, Dear, and me.
There shall remain no trace
Of what so closely tied us,
And blank as ere love eyed us
Will be our meeting-place.
The flowers and thymy air,
Will they now miss our coming?
The dumbles thin their humming
To find we haunt not there?
Though fervent was our vow,
Though ruddily ran our pleasure,
Bliss has fulfilled its measure,
And sees its sentence now.
Ache deep: but make no moans;
Smile out, but stilly suffer:
The paths of love are rougher
Than thoroughfares of stones.
-- Thomas Hardy
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FOURTH-BEST YEAR FOR HEARTBREAK
Well, then, see you around.
Don't leave me sad and tearful.
Oh shit, at least be cheerful.
Shhh! See, here's some cash I found.
One of us wanted a son
And some long-term commitment.
I never saw what it meant.
I guess I'm on the run.
The cut by Leicester Street
So full of old syringes,
Will miss our eager binges
In late September heat.
Ho hum. We had a thrill time
With lots of rumpy-pumpy.
But now I'm feeling grumpy
And all you do is whine.
Oh shut it, you featherhead cow,
And give us one last smile, then.
The best love lasts a while, then
It ends. It's tough. I know.
-- Dr Harry L. Run-Lover
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