When the Sparks Die

What shall hap­pen when the sparks die, love,
And our tears stand only for sweet memories?

What shall hap­pen when the birds are silenced, love,
And no more ring the notes of nature’s sweet­est song?

What shall hap­pen when they cry for us, love,
And the liv­ing her­ald our end in for­lorn throng?

What shall hap­pen when the skies mourn us, love,
And the rains of remem­brance have start­ed to freeze?

Is this the end, or the begin­ning again?
A quaint adven­ture in a soft star­lit land,
Refresh­ing and peace­ful through mead­ow and fen,
So weep no more, love, and take my hand.

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