Untitled

Oh what sweet release
is tears
--and rare
With furrowed brow
and cupboards bare
The name
He bends it to his pleasure
now; it bends
as if on furrowed brow.

The years so tender
played a fool
--and still
The mark he made
the pang, the chill
My voice
It calls out for a love
betrayed; it calls
upon the mark he made.