Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Margaret heaves a sigh, singing, "Oh, the hazards of love..."

She is painting rings around her eyes,
these peppered holes so filled with crying.

Tell me now, tell me this,
a forest's son, a river's daughter?

Fourteen occupations must be paid,
to pass the idle hours.

"Thou unconsolable daughter..." says the sister.

Please array a path for me,
the woods are growing thick and fast around...

Columbine, columbine, please alert this love of mine---
let him know his Margaret comes along...

You'll learn soon enough:
the prettiest whistles won't wrestle the thistles undone.

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M is for Margaret, who was swept out to sea...