• Love, once thought sweet, but now known as painful,
    Seemed to flutter down towards me.
    From its ever so clever hiding place,
    And rest upon my heart’s walls,
    Built from years of past betrayal, hurt and abandonment.
    ‘Tis not Love’s first visit, oh no.
    For it has visited my heart many times before,
    And left deep gashes, to be patch’d,
    But never compl’tly heal.
    Doest thou blame me for being afraid?
    For being cautious of my crumbling heart,
    And for safe-guarding the straining patches
    Struggling to hold my lonely, cold heart together?
    Canst thou blame me for asking question?
    Questions, that since not asked before,
    Could’ve spared a patch or bandage.
    No, it is not Love’s first visit,
    And, unfortunately, I fear that this time
    ’Round will only end the same.