Oh, foolish dreamer, you lonely child,

They gave you a hope, and you ran wild

In fields of joy and gardens of laughter,

Simple girl, you forgot what comes after

The rain of a late summer’s discontent,

However much meaningful or well meant

He will return to the world of his past,

Deserting you first, remembering last

That you held his hand through the troubled days

And you kissed his tears, through your misted gaze,

But in their flight, most men are little boys,

And gentle girls become discarded toys.