My body has been plundered,
passion from flesh violently sundered,
the streams of love now never to be spent,
on her for whom they were sacredly meant.
My cistern dug out and painfully unearthed,
whence three were once proudly birthed,
Cupid's hearth ripped from the wall,
leaving me a grieving gall.
Sapless as a desert tree,
moistless, parched, and arid I be.
Though spirits move and nerve should tremble,
I am no longer what I resemble,
but only a shadow of amour and desire,
he who to words must finally retire,
and cherish the memory of conjugal thrill,
in the silence of love now stayed and stilled.