Living Without Love
Living without Love — is like
A Lamp without a Flame —
The Wick remembers what it was
But never burns the same —
The Window waits for Morning’s Step
That never crosses in —
The Door keeps all its Courtesy
For Guests who’ve ceased to come —
The Heart still sets the Table fair
And folds the Linen white —
But eats in Silence — starving still
At Supper with the Night —
Yet Hope — a timid Traveler —
Still knocks upon the Soul —
And asks if Love might yet return
To make the Empty — Whole —
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