Fools That Love

There are those who long for love

Who whisper to the eaves

Their breaths waft up to the doves

Who cling to their branched leaves.

I am no such fool to hope that one

Might whisk me away on feathered wings

Far off into the distant, gilded sun

Where Apollo hums and strums and sings.

No, for me love is but a myth

Shrouded in a pale, ghastly veil

It wields not but the silver scythe

Leading the weak-willed to their final fail.

Love has never cared for me

Never has it shown me the courtesy

Of kindness or that gentle sea

Which laps so soft in my fantasy.

Still I am set upon by the dogs

Made a fool of by those salivating jaws

Some may say it is a gift from the gods

But I will sit trembling between those giant paws.

Nothing can save me from this fate

I know the vain and pretty will come to see

Love is the greatest trick of late

With the gentlest hands but the highest fee.