My eyes, they're not your eyes-seeing naught you've seen.
Adventures less than millions have I, though not you, by far, it seems.
Counted are the days.
With numbers only true.
Rulers cannot measure faithful hearts made blue.
Pedals plucked. The daisy's bare.
True loves are so few.
"I carried weight not mine to bear," whispered he of me to you.
Dusty eyes. They've not cried.
Barren eyes never do.
Why make Heaven's skies pity me over you
My rest prolonged.
Farewell did not attend.
I reached for strength void of power no holding place would lend.
I reap no joy in finding this surface gone the way of plain.
The red thump made black could only salute the gifter in shame.
The visit, but fleeting, to this plot brings ever-lasting-fame.
For, it is I, infamous, the broken hearted Dame.