My bones are inflamed,
but my heart is often slow and worry-some

My limbs appear nimble and firm, firm in touch,
but my insides battle amongst themselves

The warmth you sought from me invokes much,
but leaves on a lonely trek

The end of days I seek cold refuge,
for moments to care for a similar sole

The wise make living grand,
fools only live in them
For as with everything,
Life must go on.