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I don’t do Sad, she said
I do bleak.
I know the cold of an empty bed, she said
I can’t turn the other cheek.
I picked flowers for my love, she said
They lasted only a week.
I threw heart and body and soul, she said
He gave me bleak.

He does Sad, she said
When telling his friends
They do sympathy, they said
Perhaps you’ll make amends?
I don’t do healing, he said
I leave hearts that never mend.
But he’ll find others, she said
For beauty’s his only friend.

I picked flowers, she said
He picked me
These flowers are dead, she said
They died for me.
He moves on, she said
Picking one younger than me.
I wilt and die, she said
Bleak does me.

This poem resonates with bleakness. Especially, the poor woman who was dumped for a younger woman. Very sad.

Dear Byron....

I really admire the truthfulness and honesty with regard to the woman's emotions, as she refused to gloss over how she really feels....thereby validating her feelings and her pain.

I like this a whole lot and it, unfortunately, has broad application in today's world.

~Lizzytysh