Shake my head, I will not love her again.
Pity angers and brings disdain,
yet, pity strays from juvenile,
giving me hope; most usable.
Still I hold unopened champagne.

Hungry hearts know nothing of when
truth casts souls down the dreary drain.
Will there be one more suitable?
Shake my head.

Tears try drowning these thoughts in vain,
for she holds on without any strain.
Alas, she is immovable,
so sweet and fair and beautiful!
O, but how her strengths cause my pain.
Shake my head.


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