The Death of Romance

The white heron flies no more,
nor does the moon cat dance.
All my joys have fled from me
with the death of romance.

No more does every season
hold meaning through its change.
Now, when I hear the twilight wind,
its voice is wild and strange.

No more shall I count the stars
or read poetry at night.
Nor shall I speak of destiny,
for Love has taken flight.

Copyright © 1997 by Peggy Ben-Fay Hu. All rights reserved.

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