What complete lunacy is love
Our thoughts move like an artist’s brush.
A prism of yellow, blue, and green
The wild confections of a dream.
The sun shone like a posy ring
Whose words would ever solace bring.
And, then, I opened both my eyes
The colours, now, seemed too contrived.
The sky that was our favourite blue
Those fading memories of you.
The flowing contours of the scene
The echoes of what might have been.