When Love Goes Away Poem by James McLain

I was never sick of love, I just grew tired,
And now, O' father, I can't rise from bed.
My struggle for your love, was filled with stars,
I in life might live, such love were dead.

I knew it did not fall like rain upon your face or brow,
Nor from the sea, as music made by churning waves.
Yet I stay and read each book and turn each page,
And dream that there's a place where love is real.


Where such love excapes on wing's you knew I made,
Love hid inside a different dream a dream that neither made.