Love's Vassals

Forlorn and somewhat lame, the empty sigh
Of love devotes its few remaining hours
To telling stories of its vanished powers
And rather foolishly explaining why
Its strength is gone. Whimpering at the sky,
The poor thing whines, and meditates on flowers,
Fearing the scent and, unembarrassed, cowers,
Watching for justice through one half-shut eye.

Love’s vassals, we await our lonely ends
With resignation, as we see our road
Stretched out before us, and the dividends
Of lives made one with the outmoded mode
We learned from our retiring so-called friends,
Who lied, saying: In time we will explode.