When love is fickle and the sun has set
On old attachments innocent and true;
When farewells seem like cruel harrows of debt,
And goodbyes reap the stinging bite of blue;
An empty knife cleaves wounds in grave young hearts
That bleed profusely in the low-lit night,
And leave a trail of scarlet stains turned dark
With jealous passion and unchancy fright.
One remedy stands tall in stark distaste;
To either side it makes its time true claim
Of sorrows healed in moonlit shadows chaste
Forgiveness of sharp lies: an end to shame
If such a cure can dry eyes teared starry
Then why is it so hard to say sorry?