“We are Done” she cried with desperation
A fleeting sense of resignation.
Our Love on a brink of deep despair.
Of finality screaming in the air.
“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and [she] is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon”
This regeneration cannot come too soon.
Like a Phoenix rising from the Death of Love
Its wings propelling it well above
The Horror of a Love gone by
And in the night we strive to try.
Through tears of pain we recompense
And bring our Love into the present tense.
Where flowers bloom in a new light
The rising sun is a welcome sight
That I do Love this precious thing
That I have come to know through everything
Through many Loves that we have known
It is true to say our Love has grown.