A Cheerful Little Rondeau


No more, please. Keep your cloudy skies,
Your shrunken truths, your threadbare lies.
Keep all your vicious prayers, your tunes:
Damp dirges that your choir croons.
Love can’t survive such compromise.

Withhold your praise. It vilifies
All I hold dear. What satisfies
Your greedy heart this afternoon?
No more, please.

No charms, no curse. One glance belies
All pretense that you sympathize.
Add up the stars and count the moons,
Then cast again your wicked runes.
I see right through your thin disguise.
No more, please.


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