You were no bride in red;
Only a widow-heart unwed;
Yet with the seasons came
A spot of red in your hands.
I was no prince charming;
Only a lonesome wanderer;
Yet with the seasons came
A boat song on these lips.
We moved along these lines
Along these definitions;
In the end you are a wanderer
And I have turned widow-heart.
Yet these roles reverse and turn
Bring no comfort only despair.
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