There it lies, within my grasp,
but alas i grasp it not; it grasps me!
It claws around my heart, gripping like a vice, tearing like the crow,
but it is my flesh which is carrion.
My body dies: to be so close but to be not! A cursed half-life.
That gripping fruit lies before me,
the sweetest apple of the tree.
So close, but unattainable.
My love is unavailable.
II
To look and not to see: that's
what my lover does to me.
Or would do so were it not
for the fact he loves me not.
So we're not lovers, you can see
that I love him; he loves not me.
III
Oh, those long gone, lazy summer days!
We'd sit for hours, in the soft summer haze.
Words were not needed, all was thought, unspoken, felt.
Simply to be there was enough. Life was contentment, sweetly content just to be.
