Stars fell silent from her eyes,
He held her close and told her lies,
That together they would be,
But neither he, nor she could see;
Though their love was strong and true,
And through their toils it only grew,
As the winter tree does bend,
To all good things must come an end.
Glorious summer afore winters cold slumber,
Rose petals fade to saffron, burnt umber,
Light of their love fade; dies out.
Close hearts sprout first seeds of doubt.
What started so bright now splutters; a flicker,
Barely alive, the end comes no quicker.
Love makes life brighter; less dim,
Yet love is the one game we'll never win.