Disarmed By Beauty, Vanquished So
She wipes the sleep from her misty eyes
With fragile hands and polished nails;
And modestly as maidens do--
Femininity prevails!
And the coffee she has sweetly brewed,
Too hot, thus earns a gentle blow;
Then is sipped with last night's ruby lips,
And delicately so.
I am weakened by her waking eyes
And by the spill of golden hair;
Just a vanquished foe, and quartered,
In both fever and despair.
For I am fallen on this battlefield,
And cannot win so grand a fight.
This Knight disarmed, and in disgrace--
Will rest in chains, come night.
Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014
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