The night be damned if never I
hearken to Love's luscious cry.
And more's the shame if tear ducts dry
look not on Love; wipe not a wet eye.
The day forlorn and nothing gained
if ever heartbeats are never strained.
It may seem safer if one abstained
by avoiding Love's sweet pain, restrained.
But folly calls when Time, so fleet,
allows us not to savor, sweet,
those moments gone, not to repeat.
Love not sampled makes the heart obsolete.