Today we said we’d go our ways.
I won the argument, of course,
But such “sweet sorrow” never pays
Except in showers of remorse.
My wild, persistent dream of you
Is with me still, though you are gone.
I trust heart’s tears can not show through
A smile pre-fixed and painted on.
And yet Hope rears its battered head,
Expecting someone’s pride to bend,
And spare us both the awful pain
Of words I cannot face: The End
by Ray Romine Wednesday, February 27, 1952
