When she leaves, I know what I will do
It's what I always do; the only thing
I know how to do when she's gone: I'm blue,
But I go on, and hope that time will bring
Her back again. There is no virtue in
My patience: it's enforced, and therefore low.
But when she's left before it still has been
The only thing that let me let her go.
I know she has to leave, and cannot stay;
No more would I desire that she would,
Given the reasons (all of which must weigh)
Why her departure is a common good.
Still, I will sigh the time away again
Simply existing 'til she comes. But then...
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