A humble wayside flower
Tiny, scarlet, nothing
When sent in missive causes to cower
The ebony heart and mind
A Frenchwoman, lovely lady
As small as the same said blossom
And, oh, the same scarlet hued hair
Eyes that aswayed a whole country
A villain, but still, human
Driven by plotted skill and cunning.
And icy stares that pierce,
Even the warmest, truest soul.
A fop, the silliest male in England.
The laugh portrays his mind.
Utterly mad, still, there he is -
Wedded to the most glorious of women.
A ghosted phantom
Snatching lives, a bloody blade thirsts for
Who's wielder but turns on it's own
To devour, to disparage, it's own
And, a hope, dismal, fleeting
A love, a loss, a danger
Willingly born and easily so
All in the name of an adventure
