Heavens torment
O†Morn can open a Violet
Like a book of hearts
Chapters ultraviolet
Coarse and converse
In tales of beaux arts
O†sees my lady immerse
Her delicate soul thereof
In a woodland flower bent
Over her dust jackets of love
O†sees the stars disperse
Their dewy cobwebbed scent
O†sees her as my curse
Heavens torment.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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