You asked me once,
“Why is that love dies?”
It doesn’t. It’s
We humans have that fate:

Who waste our heartbeats,
Trade our truth for lies,
And sacrifice
The early for the late.

But love, is e’er the same,
It doesn’t change;
Inconstancy’s a
Carrier disease –

It isn’t love that leads
A life astray,
But life that drives a love
Down to its knees

In supplication, begging
Times gone by
To reappear, and be what
They once were —

The habitat of wherefore,
And of why,
Of which vertu engendred
is the flour…

My love, I’ll love you,
Till the day I die,
And longer, if
Such power is mine to claim

But if I go, please
Try to understand
That it is life, not love,
That is to blame.