The Silhouette

An Elegy Of Desire

Desire not, tender heart,
Ye, of baser earth make;
A furtive wish or a forlorn sigh,
Do not a very powerful prayer make!

Play not with fire, that threatens to consume,
Recoil, retreat, dare not presume;
The remains of the day, a bleak, grey horizon,
Metamorphing into darkness, the spiralling gloom.

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