Wear Your Rue With A Difference

Daisies rise and the columbine bloom, 

the king has fallen, but his remnants loom, 

“[he loves] thee best, most best, believe it. Adieu,” 

But the woes ahead are so heaping.

The contemplation of dying and sleep, 

from all the weight of secrets to keep, 

the schemes he’s sown he later did reap, 

Alas, he shall carry on sleeping. 

With flowers sweeping down the drain, 

twisted long purples soaked in her pain, 

sorrows drowning the doubts with the rain, 

 Under the willow she lay weeping. 

Poison spike with whines of despair, 

blood envenomed, the rage of an heir, 

pricking but trice, yet all fallen in the snare, 

And only the loyal heart was left beating.