The day I first met you,
was the first day of my short life.
The only thing I could possibly do,
was imagine you as my beautiful wife.

The day I wrote you a letter,
to the girl I called Midsummer's Dew.
Was the day I knew for worse or better,
that I was in love with you.

The day I crafted you a fragile gift
from rays of sun and slivers of moonlight.
You said in your heart it sealed a rift.
That others before me had left in strife

The day you said your feelings reappeared.
Was the day you said you knew,
even though it came just as you had feared,
that you were in love with me too.

The day I regret less and less.
Was the day you said we're through,
and you left me a confused mess,
because I was still in love with you.

Now I can only love one thing about you,
my Midsummer’s Dew.
Now that it is all through,
I only love the memory of you.