O the lonely heart that yearns for days of yore,

A violin draped supine in its case

With taut strings that tremble music never more,

What bow can bring you a lover’s lost embrace?

Ah, but silence awes the muscles to clench

Like the salt of orgasm dissolved from a sea of tears;

Oh lonely heart, would that you could wrench

The wheels of time to quench the wound that sears!

No, I cannot relinquish what is not mine

Nor placate the past to unfurl tomorrow’s flag;

For in your repose you commit the crime

Of trading song for healing’s eternal gag.

So, o lonely heart, do what you must!

Sing! Speak! Let loose the torrent

That stirred your romance and your lust,

And let not solace become a thing abhorrent