An Imitation of Art.
Two golden souls, star-crossed and torn apart,
Must be there lies a curse upon this heart,
For love, and love returned that can't remain
Has left it but a beating, broken frame.
To touch your skin so soft as satin sheets,
Your eyes through which your soul, my own soul meets,
A kiss upon those lips that haunt my dreams
I long to place, but will no more it seems.
Who would believe 'The Bard' could prophesy
Sweet love so doomed as that of you and I,
Two double centuries before we learn
That true Verona sits above the Tern.
Yet still this fractured heart cries out for you
My Capulet, with love, your Montague.
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