The Unrequited Love

The petals of roses have withered,

the earnest essence of endearment quivered,

the late-night confab approached to a standstill,

now the pale moon glints over the moorish hill.

The pillow was clued up on the drops of distress,

yet never apprised of the need to repress,

whilst the nights transformed into days again,

hardy could they mend the heart's pain.

As days pass by and a year passed,

the spirit's seamless sense blossomed,

we dope out to move on with a glaze in gaze,

For Love Unrequited Is Never Worth The Chase.