For You

Lo, the eve of Autumn nigh,

Therein our mid-sixteenth year,

A bittersweet goodbye,

For death did not her love then break,

Though I believed I died.

Yet death was sure to come awhile,

Ere long in my despair,

Except that I might glimpse her smile,

Or feel her in the air.

In truth she was too good for me,

Though I was undeterred,

She didn't know nor quite believe,

'Twas I who needed her.

And though I live these lonely days,

The need shall never quell,

And I will go my tearful way,

If only she is well.

Now think upon another day,

At least when we had glee,

And forgive me love, I failed to say,

I only live for thee.