The tale was told in cheekbones
Bright in winter,
The handed-down that lives
Within the heart,
The reminiscence of
A different splendor,
And those who stay together
Though apart.
The tale was long and thrilling,
Wreathed in sorrow,
But interlaced with comedy
And farce,
Until the day there wasn’t
A tomorrow,
And those few players left
Were few and sparse;
The day there was no twilight left
To borrow,
And there was but a heart
From what were
Hearts
To share is human:
