In the middle of the night the flame was lit,

Only to be snuffed within an hour,

She wept by the window sill with a drink in her hand,

Much courage is of no use till you live grand,


He was a silent hero of another cage,

Where all wept profusely for mammoth age,

The stories of his courage was popular fiction,

He having mastered the unsurpassed diction,


She still was biding night,

When he knocked on the door,

There she opened the chamber,

Into her bedroom like never before,


They fell silent into the solemn night,

Nor ever there was a sound,

But the electric beat of mandolin,

Mixed with hard feet stretched around,


They were like frozen lake,

Having run off the frozen ground,

There they rested in each other’s arms,

To be paupers on starry alms,


Till the day arose,

And he having a lamentation spoke,

Forbid this land as golden haunt,

I live no more off your love rose,


The flame is long gone,

Now her chamber bore of no more love,

While she spends her covetous days,

In the memory of his lamentations like doves.




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