Wilt thou sing for me
In the bitter eve
With nothing left to hold
But a memory of greatness
I too used to hold that greatness
In the palm of my hand
But many a wintry grave
Has taken it from my grasp
And passed it along to another
More deserving touch
Leaving me here
With a biting memory of happiness
A recollection of passion
And a futile love
For something I cannot possess