Lover’s Last Grasp

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Loneliness permeates the core of my being.
Amidst the gathering throngs I look for her.
Where is this love that my heart is seeking?

Shall I find thee along the grasses in spring?
A mellow meadow whispers of her thriving.
The gathering wind lashes long blond hair.

Where art thou love; tears start to pour?
Rumors afore spread of our, brief, abiding.
In echoes, I grasp our love’s past embrace.

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