They whisper tales of love, a legend spun,
But shame has bloomed where blushes once had run.
A proud heart, forged in revelry's embrace,
The very cup should beg to fill your space.
For lovers, beauty's bloom, a fleeting grace,
Once the candle burns, the moth must find its place.
A breath held captive, for a single soul,
Else, by separation's pain, the body's toll.
They promised night, yet shadows start to creep,
The moon has hid, and they, they ought to leap.
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