The Porcelain Dove
Leaving you heart-broken
Fleeing with your love

She chooses new form
Your love being fiction
As if she was reborn

Maturing to a blackened crow
The distasteful temperament
Flying at nethermost low

Intruding to the top of the tree
Cackling horrid misstatements
Learning to detest thee

The thought of her now vague
I may have found anew
Now being ridden of the plague

Gazing at an angelic swan
One I wish to woo
Shining with each new dawn

Uncertain of her affections
I sit and watch patiently
Venerating the ambitions

Humbly awaiting

May she perhaps love me
No longer eluding