The calling of pity echoes from

The rotting boughs where doves

Surrender pieces of freedom

To satiate sapless loves;

Near the border of slate-gray

Lake stands two souls meander

As poor children celebrate

With lack of laden vigor,

Their eyes touch in brisk attention:

One stares down into the pendulous

Chasm of boundless infatuation,

The counterpart dwell on dubious.

When snow on the zenith finally thaw

The eternal vows are laid to rest

Near the tombstone crows call

And moss infest;

Once again by the lake they stand still

No beating passion nor repercussion

Eyeing the demise of past duo kills

Ebbing waves in ceaseless cessation.