OfWhichComesToAnUnhappyEnd

For here, with ragged breath I lay. With tattered heart, I cry. With beggars moans, what then, from the throat, kept the sound of the girl aforth, for which I grieved. For from the sky, a black and lustful grave. An open book, a broken flower. Then footsteps, amongst the snow... But a beauty, for sure, is what she became. Her hair untame, her eyes, aflame, with a leaning figure, from an entombment for the act. For the stench of years, the stench of lord gore, conspired with her eyes, to form a familiar gaze, and a smile, now all her own... but with arms wide open, how could I fortell, an embrace! For a fatal man? For a virgin boy? Thus, a mistake that I surely made... as a tear of the flesh, is what I then received, yet the smile never left her face... and foul shrieks were never heard, that night, as my arms lay limp, to grasp the ground, no more.