Oh, foolish dreamer, you lonely child,
They gave you a hope, and you ran wild
In fields of joy and gardens of laughter,
Simple girl, you forgot what comes after
The rain of a late summer’s discontent,
However much meaningful or well meant
He will return to the world of his past,
Deserting you first, remembering last
That you held his hand through the troubled days
And you kissed his tears, through your misted gaze,
But in their flight, most men are little boys,
And gentle girls become discarded toys.
Claire V. Bogdanos 