In the beginning of spring a path was made
In a shady green forest where lovers laid.
It connected the west side to the east,
And brought together Beauty and Beast.
The path was secret-only for love,
Quiet and secluded, with an occasional dove.
With secrets come whispers-whispers through trees.
Rumors were carried in the voice of the breeze.
Many supporters of this path of pleasure
Made it less hidden-something to treasure.
Blooming spring flowers made a nice décor,
And by summer, the count was even more.
With more and more sins having been created,
The path was forbidden and very much hated.
The rebellious cries in the starlit night
Gave all the wise men quite a fright.
No more eloping, or the mindless riots.
The path became empty; the forest quiets.
Many months pass, and winter nears.
The path is covered with gold and brown tears.
Defeated and hidden by the wisest of men,
The shameful path was never again.