Beauty Walked, Until You Died

Beauty walked, until you died:
and men knew how to dream real dreams.
To hope, as only lovers hope;
to feel an honest, rending love...

When shadows fled! And poets died.
Because their pens could not compose:
I knew your taste, and knew you touch,
and had a reason to go on.

But time has taken all from me—
by taking you, it's taken me
unto a world where no one sings;
where nothing hopes
and nothing dreams.