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And once again, I sit alone,
But now with structure to my speech.
No longer does it strike the breach,
And fly away without a tone.
It still does hurt to sit like this,
Without a friend to warm my heart.
The fault of it is mine in part;
I gave away my lover's kiss.
She said another made her glad;
I said I would alone be fine.
On her I think as rooms grow pine;
This time of year, I'm often sad.
While she is at her peak of mind,
My face is of less joyous kind.