"Come back to bed," she whispered
Softly to the wind,
"My heart grows cool without you,
As the light between us dims.”
“Come soon, my love, remember
How I burned for your caress?
Before the flames expire
And our passion’s repossessed.”
“The time grows late,” she pleaded
Though resigned now to the chill,
She sunk beneath the covers
Where he found her cold and still.
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