ENDING
by Galen of Bristol
(c) 1995, Paul T. Mitchell, all rights reserved
Can it be time for us to part so soon?
With so much left to do? So much unsaid?
Must love fail thus, beneath July's new moon?
This comes not from your heart but from your head.
I know how you love me, it yet does show.
Others, less forgiving, might call you cruel,
But my pain chiefly fuels your tears, I know.
No lie told, nor promise broken, nor rule.
Love conquers not all, it seems, in despite
Of all we poets say, it oft may fail
When faced with fear of error in the night;
For nought the losing lover 'gainst it rail.
A love so rare I ne'er thought to see it.
But you say let it go, then so be it.
