Upon a spear of love
Impaled lay a lovely dove.
Crimson stained her feather coat
And she cries a lonely song:
“Love is a traitor,
Its kiss a ploy.
Coiling like serpent
Around its prey;
It withers flowers
And nibs at hearts,
With a poison sting
It leaves its mark.”
I pity thee, gentle dove,
And thy heart so frail
That on ground doth lay,
Bleeding love,
As thy life flies away...