Dove

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...