April is the cruelest month,
agape she heard the call,
the call of love.
the day is well nigh done!
now my life-blood seemed to sip!
alone, alone, all, all alone,
alone on a wide wide earth!
and never a saint took pity on
my soul in agony.
i looked upon the attractive face,
and drew my eyes away,
i looked upon the attractive face again,
and there the new rotting lover guy sitting
close to her.
i looked to heaven, cried in my room,
and tied to pray,
but a prayer had gust,
a wicked whisper came, and made
my heart as dry as dust.
the new rotting lover guy love
the lady the guy,
but the new rotting lover guy is
still as a slave before his lord!
since then, at an uncertain hour,
that agony returns;
this heart within me burns.
her voice is as soft as honey-dew
I will always love you till
DEATH takes me away from you.
I dedicate this poem to a special lady
name: still known by my learning colleagues