The Forest of Toil
Her hair black as the hills of oil,
and thick as the forest of toil.
Adonis, with large palms, works hard,
to win her heart, under armed guard.
Her father keeps her chaste; in stow.
Charms’ locks, curly and blonde as sun.
He’s blinding; she thinks he’s the one.
Slips through the gate; she scans the skies.
She seeks the truth; love is all lies.
Her father knew; wisdom comes slow.
She is fated to always run.
(Too late…her father was the sun.
He kept her safe; wanted the best.)
Escape from hell, youth’s put to rest,
White teardrop gown, six feet below.
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