Uploaded on April 14, 2012
No serenades
Carry on the air.
Proclamations of undying love
Are no longer heard.
Love was crowded out.
The Admirer is dead,
And the Admired
Followed him to the grave.
The balcony teems with vines,
And there’s no room for romance.
The time was wrong,
And all that’s left is bittersweet.
—Cheryl Ruffing
04.14.2024: I remember that I really liked this poem when I wrote it—still do.