The flame of hope is now an ember. The fuel of desire burning old. As the door shuts upon your pretty face, I am again left out in the cold. For a long year I have wanted you; Your face to kiss, your hands to hold. Nothing returned, my heart--it wanes. The wolf is leaving the lustful fold. I grow older, I must move on But I am running out of time. As periods of life draw to a close, I know I approach the end of the rhyme. I should never have dreamed that I could. Us together, that you actually would.
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