I cannot write a single line of verse,
Not to the girl you were, nor to you now.
And after all the bitter words we've said
Why should we meet again for one more row?

For what you gave when I was with you - thanks!
I never reckoned the precise degree
Of how much I received, how much I gave.
I'd be surprised if you gave more to me!.

And as for all the harm, that like a burden,
You laid on me, a heavy load of pain -
It's part of me and I can deal with it.
The scars remain indeed - but not in vain.

It's too late now for idle tales of woe.
Don't fear that we shall talk till dawn and curse.
I just no longer love you, dear, and so
I cannot write you one more line of verse…