Even the best wishes can be discarded
At the target’s whim fickle
And even this can be pardoned
As autumn leaves resemble sickle.

Tiring efforts clutch at straws
To save every last one
Lost romance in a just cause
Just because it’s done.

And in the dark hour
The tallies and scores are counted
And though defeat tastes sour
Victory on either side is routed.

“To arms, to arms! Redeem fate!”,
Will cry those blind in dark hour
As light reveals and finds late
Barbarians guard the tower.