When the well runs dry the sea gulls cry.
When the firefly lights go dark they die.
When lovers leave to marry someone else
removing love’s chess game rook itself,
no black unchecked a queen yet survives.
When the well runs dry the words go sere.
When the howls sound out with nary a tear.
Then opportunities swing in and then out
since you never knew they clamored about
though they hovered over you ever so near.
When the well runs dry nothing left I fear.
credit: thewordin365.wordpress.com
In the gaze of the other 