They ask me "Why are you so bitter, your humor so dry?

Where are your good spirits?" and so I reply:

"Dead and gone, dead and gone, all the life in me;

All it was has rotted, only leaving the obscene

All my happiness is long deceased."


I tell them this and then they cry,

"When did this happen? Where and Why?"

These beg such candor I dare not comply and so I merely sigh,

"Long ago, I doubt not when, but where is somewhat blurred...

As for why, do not ask me, perhaps you should ask her."