XYZ
Well, that's that.
It's over, I guess.
What started so strong
has ceased
with less than a sigh.
Was it so long ago
when we enjoyed everything
the other had to say?
When every secret was sublime
every story stirring?
Has so much time fled
since we were new?
Now, of course,
our poesy has no purpose.
We are prosaic
and practical
and we can predict
how this will all end:
sensibly, calmly
dispassionately.
I regret nothing we had
and wish only
there was more of it.
I will treasure the memory
of our beginning
even as we slog through this enervative end.
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