Jezie
My belle, I met her when the grass was green,
my Spring Girl. Fresh her ways, her charms were many.
I claimed her as my own, but she was no flower;
and like the breeze that teases trees she shook the hearts of many.
Again, she’d turn to me and I’d forget the torment which was yesterday.
She was mine today and that was all that mattered.
I felt as I would have had I been loved.
My Wondering Breeze began to blow again;
the green of jealousy within me started to flow again.
I could not help myself, the slap reddened her cheek
like copper leaf in autumn.
She turned the other slowly: pale, white, frigid as winter light.
I struck her again.
She fell through my hands and shattered,
the one who above all things mattered the most.
met her end by these hands that used to caress her
and cup her like priceless spice.
In fit of anger. I struck her down, to my obsession, a sacrifice.
There she lay after the final blow. How can I let her know
that my anger was born not out of love but jealousy?
Oh, had she been faithful to me!
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