Signed With Love, Sealed With Wax

And he pulled it out of a book
And he wrote "Dear Dearest" on the page.
All too hot here stood the sordid
trampled-on and love-forsaken man,
Saw a cord and pulled upon it
Hoping that he could prolong it
By writing "Dear Dearest" on the page.
Alone, alas, the room so warm
Not quite lost and yet forlorn,
'Neath a rock, two choices torn,
And still naught but "Dear Dearest" on the page.
A trembling hand and faded parchment,
Pen and ink now scratching both,
A little, then a little more
With aching tips attempts his oath,
But staring now at what he wrote
Lies naught but "Dear Dearest" on the page.
When ticks the clock, that faithful hand,
A lucky and forgotten six,
Arrived a step with heartbeat all
And saw our saddened slumped-down frame
Crouched like willows over paper.
Pen in hand, the rag was signed
Below initials, underlined.
Now cried the woman, rag in hand,
Yellow parchment, with naught but "Dear Dearest" on the page.