It was an empty word,
A softly-breathed request
A plee for help oft-envoked
And the sparkle in her eye to light the steady gloom
Woman's words a snare
To capture my heart
To lift me high, and when all is well
To break me against life's flow
What folly take the heart of man,
That he should all sense forgo?
The steady-beating, still bleeding heart
answers its own with one more potent
In all that it forgets
Is all life's joy worth each stagnant drop
of death's quiet, lonesome doom?
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