I must admit you kind of dare
What about us, in the end?
Should small talk let me pretend
That whatever stays aware
When I look up about to care
For whatever kind of blend?
You left so soon without a scent
Are the consequences to bare?
For the soul that goes with it
However long, we know it's soon
For grief is sour and indeed to admit
We will never reach the moon
No sparkle will be lit
I will be walking through the monsoon