Sunday late-night Deaf Culture edition

OK, so it's just love poetry. But it's cultural love poetry.

On Leaving

Let not my heart fall-quite so low;
My love, be well till I return;
Hours still pass, clockwork, slow-
their value not ours to spend
loss draining fever from brows,
medicine to tighten throats,
cool fire healing. Apart, we learn
Love's a fluid which oils Time
Time a key by which Love turns.

edited: "key" used to be "spoon." Thought key was better.