Riddled into bended mold a tracked blessing of wanton shame,
Thrashed threw willows lamenting sobs the Tarrant lays his last maim.
Upon that sweet yielding ebony the damsel lays she still,
Mocking death he stills her breath of domains he wields.


He carries her to lovers walk beneath the pale moon frenzy,
None to see his grotesque heart, none to find a remedy.
Steady hand he pitches dirt to lay his love to bed,
No such tear does fall to earth for that the life she led.
Working still he catches breathe ghost smile upon his lips,
Humanity that now abates is now so grossly ripped.
Lusting after what he had, tender hand upon his breast,
He views his beauteous handy work, her eyes closed like in rest.