Oh, the hurt of the words spoken
When silence would suffice.The burden of a broken heart finds
No solace in the shadows of the
Talk of town.
The pleasantries shared, the dancing
Confession, I beg of you to never mention
Such stewardship unless in warrant.The sorry state of fires burning, the
Deception between the ladies' eyes.
No warranties of childhood laughter
From the expectancy of passing
Love.I hear but anguish as feet touch grass,
A ladyโs decorum could, if asked,
Become and be coming, as fair as
Any nymphโs. Oh the bossom of such
Maid would delight the gentry, and the
State of mind of selfless agents.
