Mine Guinevere
Whence, the Bitter Chill of December cometh
shall not the glowing embers, of thine heart
crackle within the depths of thy soul
for but the withered flower upon the mantle grows
Thine eyes glisten as does crystal in a Chandelier
whence, the subdued rays fall upon it from yonder fire
radiant is thy skin, soft as is the pedal of a rose
of which is new born in the very bosom of Spring
Come hither, mine Guinevere, entrance me, seduce me
I shall beg of thee for thy mercy before the end
I shall be under thy spell, as if bewitched
for thou art a Witch of Great beauty and power
For thou art in possession of said Power over Men
Mine Guinevere, cast thy spell upon me,quickly
for I am become blinded by mine own Lust for thee
the taste of thy kiss, is bitter sweet to me
Quickly, Mine Guinevere, for I weaken for thee
the spell of which thee cast upon me has taken hold
wrapped round mine heart, it's grip tightens
Mine own soul is for thee, Mine own Lust is for thee
Were it possible, I would kill for thee
yet, I am become weakened by desire for thee
to late for mine own self,thou hast taken me
hence, from the intense passion, forth to bitter cold
Thine own Bewitching Beauty, has but taken another
Mine Guinevere, thou hast done me
Mine own life is all but withered away, bitter cold
Hence, mine flower on yonder mantle, shan't ever grow
Whence the Bitter Chill of December Cometh !
copyright Rd Pickett 2011
Copyright © Richard Pickett | Year Posted 2011
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