There stood, somewhere

In the vicinity of this valley,

A ruin, solitary and desolate

And, just by the same,

Existed an abode, which

You may well call it,

A refuge of solace

For a heart-wreck and love-lorn.

Call it, if you please,

A tomb of tender yearnings.

It had witnessed warm pursuits of live,

I t had, as well realised,

Frozen hope and frustration, in my being,

Compassionately, it had extended me,

Not only shelter, but support as well,

To my sinking hopes.

Was quite familiar with the cadence

The love-stricken heart produced,

And, was fully alive, wonderfully

With every secret beat of heart.

Sweet melodies were they

Of promises, passionate and

They were love songs,

That kindled hope and faith.

This same abode on earth

Was, I am sure, a fountain source

Of all melody, and all romance.

Oh! this abode was the only custodian

Of the secret treasures.

Which I had treasured.

In the innermost recess of my heart.

Was a faithful companion

Ever extending me needful consolation.

With bouquets. I know not how many!

Of sweet recollections, but all withered.

Pressed to its bosom the abode

Expectantly looked for me

O’ how love-sick it used to be for me!

To find its trace

I Wander here. I Wander there.

O’ what has become of it?

O’ where has vanished my solace?

Looking for me, restlessly

For decades, trying and tiresome,

And, losing all hopes, at last

Overtaken by disappointment,

It must have sunk down to sleep

In the very ruin, alas!

For me, an only refuge it was

Now it exists no more, alas!

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