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Her flaxen hair was woven
Into silken curls of gold,
Her eyes were sparkling gems,
Her figure a rapture to hold.
 

With skin like the finest silk,
Renee was the love of my life.
I passionately hoped someday
She might become my wife.
 

I lay by her side as I wrote,
A Garden of Eden it seemed.
My thoughts drifted off as I slept,
A future of bliss I dreamed.
 

          But I awoke from slumber abruptly
          As she unlatched the door.
          “Where are you going?” I asked.
           “Can’t you stay a while more?”
       

          She turned to me and said,
          “I think that we’re quite through.
          “I’m tired of this charade,
          And I’m tired as well of you!”
       

Her footsteps subdued as she left my sight.
She vanished forever into the night.
So harsh, so cruel; my soul was torn.
What had I done to deserve such scorn?
 

My muse was gone; was she ever real?
An empty void was all I could feel.
There by our bedside her comb remained,
To remind me I’d lost the love that I’d gained.
 

          My spirit fell, my heart turned cold,
          My poetic flair could no longer hold.
          I’d written lush words, from deep inside,
          Inspired by love, but now I cried.
       

Words are words in any place,
On whatever note or card they grace,
I try now to write to get through the day.
But none of these words can bring back Renee.