The clock ticks away the solemn years,
Each marked by nightly tears,
My heart beats louder than a raging storm,
And freezes over what once was warm,
The clock ticks down another day,
And still my heart throbs and yearns to say,
The thing I swore I would not admit,
For my ancient heart is afraid to commit,
The ivory sheets are pulled around my chin,
My body covered by withering skin,
Yet even as I prepare to depart,
I still cannot say what is in my heart.