Every now and then, I return.
Behold my thoughts, my dread.
Every now and when, I bemoan;
A sorry state, I fret.
Every now and whence my sorrow
rises above all else.
Every sound and sigh I utter
echo my grief like bells.
Ask why, that I should feel like so,
and I just might tell you.
Ask how, that an old wound still hurts,
and I might have no clue.
So come, read this chatter, this rant,
of a hurt from times past.
I saw an old flame pass me swift,
no note of me, alas.
