A hundred hues had the winged winter-tide
when your wonderful name was all I owned.
I'd once owed you my canvas crimson-toned,
yet dearest, you are no more by my side.
What fortitude has Fate, emerald-eyed,
to finagle hearts of fire, have souls stoned;
take you away, leave me ivory-boned?
Blossoms that bore all blows, no longer bide.
Memories do bring you to this maimed bed,
yet I crave you as God would long for gongs.
Grey is my world for I have still not bled
many tears or truths or hopes or songs.
Lord let me die and shroud me but unwed
lest my soul should reach not where it belongs.
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