Another fallen fruit now hangs
From ceilings of unpollened gloom.
Its feelings, bruised in dull abuse,
Evolved in puissance through its youth
To thunder nuisance in its heart
And rend asunder part by part.

No more all-nightly talks may pluck
Intentions of untimely byes.
No more inventions of resolve
Dissolve illusions of the mind.
No more for who could take no more
Irascible insults, deceits.
No more for who remain for more
Occasions of redemptive feats.