LONE CELLO

Too much is incomplete. Let’s make an end Of all the fond impossible dreams we’ve dreamed, And when we part, We were not meant to be Too closely here companioned where the thorn Of our red love transfixes joy’s brief crown. The roses wither, time itself decays, And log-lit embers fall to ashes when The memory of the flame no longer glows. We rode to Echo Canyon and your smile Ran naked through the chambers of my heart. Now lonely cellos must out parting sing As when some cool green afternoon lets fall From one high branch a few wind-weary leaves. We grow too old too suddenly. Farewell!