Where does love go after it dies?
Does it simply evaporate into the skies?
Or drop like a pebble to the depths of the sea
A ripple then gone for eternity?
Is it a flower that blooms for awhile?
Doomed to shed petals on a morbid pile
Is it for a season a golden mist?
That wafts to the clouds in emptiness?
Where does love go after it dies?
Does it rest in the throat of the lone wolf’s cries?
Or is it the moan of the autumn soul?
The sullen tone as the breakers roll
Is it in the cry of the whip-poor-will?
Or the wistful sigh when the night is still?
Where, oh where does love go when it’s o’er?
If only I knew I could find it once more
All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin
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