A small sad tale

A heart of gold, a soul of glass,
A memory to which, no doubt, will last.

His wistful dream, to which hast end.
He yearns for it to come again.

Yet be it not within his fate,
To have again or recreate.

A loveless life, his future hold.
With naught but loss, his story’s told.

To those who have, this short poem, read.
I doth thank thee, I bow my head.

This story which I sadly tell,
Is something that I know quite well.

However it is a bit of a bend.
For it's real story has not yet end.

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(p.s. I know that it is a mix of old English and current English, I just do it because I like the way it sounds and also its just kind of my style)