The End

The tale of us is at an end and now all that is left Is a sad, slow denouement the dance of love bereft. All the crises have been resolved the plot, once thick, has thinned. Our sets dismantled, stage empty, because we’ve reached the end. Our love was but a fantasy of rainbows and moonbeams, A dream rent by reality; loves’ seldom what it seems. The curtain on our play has closed, now we play other parts; Picking up the bits and pieces left of our shattered hearts.