This end will not be the end alone—
‘Tis the splicing of the meek and bold
So blades would foil the eleventh hour scaffold
Under the high noon of a fiendish loan
...Her face burns with chastening tears
As reproach disrobes the Queen of Lust...
Just then a hand reaches down amidst spirited dust,
Lifts her up from horseback, slaying all fears.
Labels: poems and poetry