One thing have I discovered late,
How she the flawless counterfeit,
Left countless victims in her wake,
And I the perfect candidate.

I, who would for instance trade,
My life for hers would pardon save,
Yet she, the heart most cruelly flayed,
As if with deftly wielded blade!

Love misdirected, misconstrued,
Ignites in late night interludes,
With softest touch and whispered woos,
She can't decide, she will not choose.

She plays like keys the hearts of men,
Till tissue ruptures pain begins,
And spreads like virus from within,
What antidote? What can ammend?

Angelic being most contrived,
In lovely angels darkness lies,
When baser instincts do arise,
They do as men with fools supplied!
Wb.JS 12/5/15