When you pass this way
will you think of our long burning hours
the melting, the rendering as one,
radiant, the raveling of our two souls?
Or will you think only of the untangling,
the tattering of our love – apart?
Will the evening shadows cast
a glow across the prairie fields,
the flowers that we picked?
Or will a wistful wind brush your face,
indelibly, now in some lonely place
where we once stood?