Oh even all the rustlings of the note,
the difficulty of the glue-sealed flap
were fraught with grief. To cry I did not know
but felt tears tear me up inside.
The breeze was warm, the sun was warm as well.
The leaves foreshadowed all the rustling yet.
And then did happiness begin to swell?
Was freedom finally there, the silenced free?
And still I do not know how lies were made
but that they saved the feelings of that She.
To think, the woman I fought in Crusades
could still instil some pity within me.
The coldness of her looks will haunt me still,
but tears at her partaking bring mine own.
...wha? I won't say more, because I'll just wound my pride.
ReplyDeleteOh Alice, you're so funny ;)
ReplyDelete