Love fire dies, drenched.

                                        

I hired a cunning poet

To pen her beauty and glory.              

Not a verse but echoed her gaiety,

I began my Tale of Love                    

So subtly and so intriguingly;

That she grew helpless to ward off     

Those words penned in sequence       

And thrust to her in all reverence.       

Her desire was set aflame.                  

Some dragons threw some water

And the boiling heart had frozen.       

The milking cow turned barren.

No illicit love has enough air to burn. 

07.01.2003