The Ivy and the Brick

It must have felt like love at first, The clinging of the ivy vines, Until his rich red heart had burst. Her tendrils slaked an ancient thirst, The tender touch for which he pined. It must have felt like love at first. Too guileless to suspect the worst, She speared him with her soft green tines. Until his rich red heart had burst. Her coils so patiently she pursed, He never guessed at her design. It must have felt like love at first. Crazed with cracks, its strength dispersed, From end to end the wall declines Until his rich red heart had burst. So new to love, so poorly versed In joy, so baffled by her signs, It must have felt like love at first. Until his rich red heart had burst.