I heard, I saw, I felt
And to venerate her beauty I trembled and knelt
Ah! She looked so fine
With shiny hair, like golden wine.
Truth be told; I became a fumbling fool
For in her presence I was filled with boundless joy
That I leapt about like a little boy.
She who raged like a thousand fires
Awakening the sleeping embers of my desires.
She as slippery as an eel
I coveted her knowing she wasn’t mine to steal.
With skin as supple as leather
She danced lighter than a feather.
For her sake, I’ll gladly be imaled by a lance
Knowing she’ll never spare me a glance.
She was likened to the gentlest dove
As lucky as the four-leaved clove
But I can solemnly vow by Jove
She was never any of the above.
Many for her love had died by mead
For she had scorned them like vilest weed
Of their affections she had no need
To their love, only poison had she to feed.
Why then did they call her gentle or brittle?
When to her love was worth less than spittle
And the breaking of hearts was what to seek.
She who chipped of locks of hair
To entagle with her was a deadly affair.
Always swinging by with a smile like no other
And vibrant lashes of heather.
Knowing as I did that she was a deadly snare
I ask now in regret, why I went so very near?