Cursed

There is no curse like the dawn of day

And its inevitability of starting over again

To taunt that he could never stay. 

Even these clouds ridicule. First the grey;

Thin, wispy things promising release, yet come morning, won’t bring me rain—

There is no curse like the dawn of day—

Then, those tinted pink and yellow by ray 

Serve only to highlight that to hope, and to love was done in vain, 

To taunt that he could never stay.

Why should I rise when he has gone away

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