Yield
Yield? Not to you, I certainly won't.
I'll parry on hot coals, I'll lunge to your affront.
Succumb? I'll not breathe your air of lies,
Since no honeyed sweetness makes me compromise.
Supplicate? Then throw down your armor at will.
Once freed from this battle, you will be my love still.
Copyright © Hilda Greenhough | Year Posted 2024
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