Awful melancholy ignites your eyes. The cherub sees the way you stare Down the draping stream. The flaming fury that dare arise, Which melts to tears that both eyes share, As delicate as cream. Translucent veil -- skipping rocks, Your sight, your focus wanders to and fro Contemplating in utter vain. The breeze -- thread-thin, like your locks. In unison, flies by a swallow and crow. Oh, what a nomadic shame. Perhaps; had I inquired, pet her head, I would've saved her from such sorrow. Basing it all on a guess, But that, I did not do. What I'd done, instead, Sat far behind the coldest harrow. Not a drop of empathy, I confess...