"Come back to me!"
He screeched into the dawn
Knowing full well she was no longer his
Time spent sculpting wasted elsewhere
He swept her up but lost her too
Is he even worth praising?
His palms bled bright red with her blood
He waived them at passers-by
Why shift the burden of the weight
Another man will surely collect
But then she's gone, no longer his
He had her there! But now no more.
The seeds he sewed in boredom surely
Led to his own desctruction as fate foretold
And now he sits upon stoops of longing
The gentle breeze of her blows feverently
"Come back to me!"
He yelled into the darkness
He was hers
But he lost her.
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