Vague terrors of those dreadful nights
grip my heart, a crumpling piece of paper.
Regret rising from the river, a smiling ghost
what could have been but never was.
I do regret but think to wash away
the stains with cheap tears while
he is still alive, my poor skeleton prince
I owe him devotion, warmth, and shelter.
Recognise my agony I pray; getting too old
for my desperate dreams, too old to fight.
Regret: he must never know.
