~~ NO ~~

Talk me not of reminiscent tears,
Their crystal delight on an iris bright.

Acquaint me not how you shed them there,
I won't see how mine fell so light.

Converse me not of malaise fears,
Their careless stride on my tender tide.

Illustrate me not how we rested here,
I won't discern why our ways got wide.

Let’s talk of the ample autumns instead,
When the timid zephyr spoke poetry and rhyme,
Let’s stroll again in those mildest drizzles,
When the petite crystals carved songs on our time.

I would seize a song here,
And a filch a story there,
Every now and again I would,
Release our sarcophagus to bare.
Read them along,
In colours green and blue,
Rip away some,
Tuck away one or two.

So remind me not of maladies of life, love,
Veiled in the spite of the sunshine's bright.

Sing to me not of the broken songs, for
I won't hear how mine lost to the night.