REFRAIN

Your known refrain, monotonous and galling,

accompanying the tedious song of living,

ringing out, sombre, like some last bell tolling,

at times, light-sparks to your illusions giving.

Its deathly tone of old carved ivory scrolling,

and glint of marble, ’neath the chisel’s cleaving,

its scent of last year’s orchard, breath extolling,

and taste of fruits, a year’s worth make-believing.

In it your past and future path comes crossing

portent of joys and let-downs all-engrossing,

after quenched thirst at once dejection doling.

Blissfully futile patience wafts abatement,

lurking, asleep, hid in its single statement:

“Love is deceased, yet my dream lives, recalling.”