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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