Oh how the bloodlets, the evicerates.
A trembling heart doth beat its final pound.
The daggers, sheathed in flesh, do penetrate!
A curdling scream from her: the only sound.
I chanced upon this hapless victim there,
and started talking in a nat'rl way.
A comment on her soft and shiny hair.
A question: tell me where the snowbuds lay.
The kindness in her heart would soon betray.
The tell turned show, off to her resting place.
So hard to not reveal her final day.
I wont forget the look upon her face!
A trembling heart doth beat its final pound.
But mine keeps beating, harder still, I've found.
