The Autumn of the Heart

When the leaves on the trees
of Love
begin to fade and fall,
where will we be, and where do we go?
I would sell my soul and crumble life to dust to keep from this from being so.
I never learned to love myself at all,
and never saw all the things you see,
the things that brought your love and light to me.
When the leaves on the the trees of Love
begin to die and rot,
I wish for things that were to be as they were not.
I miss my love for you, and yours for me, I fed myself on love, I swallowed pirecing joy;
I now would starve, but for bitter agony.
Come back to me.
When the leaves on the trees of love begin to droop and fade,
I'll make a pilgrimage,
to the plot of ground
in which my love was laid.