If loves were thorns,
He would have perished long ago
In some forgotten lover's arms
Of wounds that would have drained him
Of the saps that now sustain him.

If loves were coins,
He would have spent them long since now,
And laughed at any tie that love enjoins,
And with a sneer he turned his heel
On ones he once held dear.

But former loves have ways of coming back
To haunt the man, they taunt him
With a guilt he sadly lacked,
When youth beguiled his mind
And conscience left behind.