Doomed Lovers

The meadow green contrasts with icy streets,
Old bonnets giving way to new women's hats.
between the Summer sky and the streets,
An abandoned bread stand without the baker's wife.

I orate this story of
Forsaken love.

A young couple, perhaps no more than teens,
No more, no less,
Were the lovers of all lovers,
The girl's name was Bess,

The girl who tenderly loved her girlfriend's neck,
The other who had a thing for eyes.

Young Bess saw only lies,
Her lover only her soft and tender eyes,
Yet between them was a love no longer here but gone.
Young Bess saw only lies.

Yet lover loved only she,
Bess with issues of the trust,
Who thought she liked only her bust.
If only she could have learned to trust.

And now the immigrant sees only her lover's neck,
As she held her head trembling and crying for their love,
Her name was Bess,

Who grabbed her lovers head against the executioner's wishes, preserved it,
And gave it a proper burial in the US.

Yet the baker missed Bess,
Who wanted to see her head fall.
For stealing a loaf of bread and stabbing his wife...
With a stiletto knife.

Bess longed to die with her beloved,
When she returned from her home country.

She got her wish,
The blade went through her neck,
Dying in sixty seconds,
The vial of blood she wore as a vial of her girlfriend's momento,

Shattered.

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