Is it the time, or the tears we cry
That rend the love to glances dry?
Is it the faith that in phantoms leaves
The moments slip as times go by?
The fates like frost upon silver lips;
The faintest flame turns love to dust;
A gale that set the sails to ships,
In storms does wreck its steels to rust.
The loves in fear do shake of tears;
The hearts have turned to toys of lust;
The simplest words consume the years,
And memories fly from faintest gusts.
Is it the time, or the hearts of stone
That choke our loves in breaths unknown?
Is it the time, my beloved dear,
Or the hearts in age too old have grown?