I can’t recall the day love ceased to stir,

Nor when I stopped to long for your embrace.

Was apathy the quiet saboteur,

Or time’s rough hand that tarnished ardor’s grace?

A paramour that stole your heart away?

Some longing that dissolved our common creed?

A wayward whim no vow could hope to stay,

Or wild desire that blossomed into need?

Love has no chart to mark its hidden turns,

Nor yet an hourglass to foretell its end—

A fire eternal that forever burns,

So long as passion feeds, and truth defends;

Its blaze endures until the fuel’s gone,

And cold grey ash lies where bright fervor shone.