The fall
The axe is laid at the tree
Fruitless in present and memory
All with hope that it would bear
From mended roots a tree that cares
Yet now I feel with thorn in side
A splintered heart to wood confide
All for vain that I would be
The cause, the maker of calamity
Thus split now from my presence
From my thoughts my very essence
And I shall look on to fields so dull
And you shall then grow independently full
But when I look back upon the prize I lost
Do not think I regret the cost
Of giving up a treasure dear
Of surrendering to a battle queer
For what I lost, that I may gain
From a different girl with a different name.
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