Cut Flower

Cut Flower


From pain my heart will ne’er be lulled
and naught but sorrow will I know.
My one true love too soon was culled;
love's fertile ground a bleak tableau.

The poet writes, “With time is dulled
that sense of loss, that hammer’s blow.”
From pain my heart will ne’er be lulled,
and naught but sorrow will I know.

Each hour an age since Death annulled
the life we’d pledged as one to grow.
Now to your side I may not go
(though sweet release is often mulled).
From pain my heart will ne’er be lulled.