Classic Poem

I

Do not chafe at your bonds, dear:
It is only my heart that holds you;
That is easily broken.

II

I was sent from a far country that I might bear one message;
You will neither hear it nor let me return.

III

I thought love would come gloriously,
With the blare of trumpets and ruffle of silver bugles,
Lighting the night with his pageantry.
And I found him in two sad eyes so tired they could not look on mine.

IV

In our town
There are painted wooden houses, one dusty park, and I.
Each vear we grow more faded,
More hopeless,
More alike —
The houses, the park, and I.