The old Gothic church was bleeding with history.
The archway was miniature and stained with rust.
Gargoyles well in place overseeing legions of mystery,
wolves of midwinter seething hunger for lust.
That's when I saw her face and braided hair.
Suddenly the course history of the church
lost ifs grounds of beauty and faded into thin air.
Frozen were my steps as I hid upon the balcony perch.
I was shy and lonely so to St. Anne I began to pray.
I saw my love headed my way,
I must speak as the frost nipped the afternoon day,
Perhaps, only she will her adore him so fay.
He waited for her to come up the stairs,
from his nervousness he felt beaten.
As she turned he saw what to no lover seems fair,
under her beautiful hair her eyes had been eaten.,