I do not die so easily as am lived; for lingering past does fade,
Sound asleep her her first and last shall be with mine embrace,
Leaves and slowly parts as the strings our hearts bind slowly cut,
And finally realised the new life that I shall breathe into her,
Of her Freedom does she turn away from me and would slowly awake: 
That morning breeze of the trees against her window does sound,
Finds not I by her side but all writings pure of mine unto her,
Shall read it and those tears that fall belay her not that fire extinguish,
Falls back into bed and hears the only footsteps and gaze decaying,
As stood, and kneels to Venus for the renouncement of her Love.

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Nature, Poetry, Romance, Works
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