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.