She was the song,
in a chorus--unheard,
You were the summer
in her winter of verse.

Yours was the melody
she wanted to learn;
it clung to her lips,
in silence it yearned.

It seems as though now,
you forgot every word;
in a field full of flowers,
she was the first.

There once was a song
you remind her of--
she no longer longs,
yet she still loves.

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