Heartthrob

Written by: Claire de la Grange

Upon her thorny heart I bleed;
My rose I nurtured from a seed,
With blazing bloom and perfume sweet,
Who pricked me with her warm deceit,
To where I gladly bade her leave.

Her eyes and smile they did precede,
A witchly soul that did deceive,
My love to stumble with conceit;
Upon her thorny heart.

If I could pluck her to be freed,
And rip her from my soul, indeed,
My lesson thus would be complete,
Sough not a love in lusty heat.
To this my penance I accede, 
Upon her thorny heart.