"Cry, fairest lass, weep bitterly for me.
Give passage to the agony inside.
I fear, alas, we are not meant to be."
He purred and pampered as her spirit died.
And cry she did. The tears unhindered flowed.
For he who spoke thrust needles in her heart,
Whose face, like granite, no emotion showed.
The pain of broken love a morbid art.
There as she wept he knelt upon the grass
Still whispering his venom laden lies
And caught the rain within a crystal glass
As each drop fell like stardust from her eyes.
That night he placed the vial in a drawer
Where lamplight glinted off a thousand more.