Of life and death and love and grief,
The latter prevails like a successful thief,
Who steals the heart, but keeps it near,
For losing it is half the fear.

But now begin, powder your mind
About the one whom you have found,
Or found he you, but who can tell,
Is fate the jester who rings the bell?

Take a walk down the road,
This story: half the truth is told
Or rather understood, until you're old
And half your heart the thief has sold.

So here it is, we can begin,
Not caring what may say the kin.
But out there still, is half your heart,
The other being torn apart.

And daggers, swords, and even knives,
They play no role, in these our lives.
The choice will be, like all mankind,
Desicion in the mind you'll find.

Hello fair lady, sit so still
The gaze be fixed upon a hill.
If shirt be opened, torn apart,
You'll see a hole, where should be a heart.

A pretty lady, face quite fair,
And such sweet beauty that could tear
The heart and soul of any bear,
And leave him in the cold.

In any realm there could not be
An aura of such dignity,
With face quite high, with gaze quite hard
And always ready, quite on guard.

Remember how it used to be,
When every day there just may be
A visitor or two to see,
The pretty girl (of Sharlovee),
And maybe even more.

And on a day just such as this,
When clouds were high,
And sun like bliss,
There came a man who could not miss
The open door of love.

How strange now it might seem to you,
That sat he down,
And eyes like glue
Upon the hill you've seen before,
And dreamed of if the mind be sore.

So there they sat, or sat they there,
It seems as if without a care
And with no harm, no tears or fears,
They sat there for so many years.

And on a day just such as this
The man stood up and let it slip:
That I must leave, or leave I must,
And either way you'll have to trust...

That life goes on
And on it must
Like sea must roar
And roar it must
Like birds that chirp
Must also fly
And girls who love,
Must also cry.

© 1997 by
Abraham Klausman