Tale of a Man Gone Away

If then, the sixteen chariots of our Prince do go,

Leaving some young souls still heavy with a promise of spring

And if, by chance, some humble man should approach your home

And entreat you to show him some semblance of kindness

Don't fret, and let him in love, for me.

If then, the sickly moon's first kiss upon your shoulders

Is not so delicate or loving as my own kiss

And the august heat is so sticky as to melt plants

At the sweet, silken touch of your gentle fingertips,

Don't cry, they'd die at your touch anyway. 

If then, the leaves do fall upon your door

As though knocking to be let in from the wind

And they touch upon your heart as being sent somehow from me,

Far gone, alone, and thinking of your lovely face,

Leave him, and swim through your tears to my arms. 

If then, through the deepest cold you lay with him

And no longer find yourself thinking of me

As the winter freezes your heart, and he warms you with a kiss,

And as the frost turns your eyes to pale blue,

I'll find fame, with your name in my heart. 

And if, by some odd twist of happenings

the Earth finds her colors once again,

And I return to our home, our village, and you

And in his arms you choose to remain,

I will die, and the sky will follow.