It’s funny how significance
Is applied so subjectively
One spot may be meaningless to one
But a hallowed ground to any

Upon this old stump I sit
And think back to weeks before
When you led me to love’s resting place
A time I call Fin D’Amour

When evening fell on this little town
Seemingly a thousand years ago
And you ended what had barely begun
With one final, bludgeoning blow

There is no need whatsoever
To dwell on what we had
For while you ended it with slight apprehension
You did not seem the least bit sad.

Fooled and thrice defied by love that had me from hello
A slowly fading summer that would never see the snow.

The little boy upon his bicycle was here again tonight
He looked me in the eye and grimaced at the mournful sight

For he had overseen when “youandI” began
He likely saw us laughing, and walking hand in hand

And he was there the night our love could simply not revive
Upon that hallowed ground that only in my memories will
Survive.