Elegy Written On An Old Bar's Chair

Such a thrill it was, was she,

the wonder and facade of the night,

any of which she came to be,

took her from truth, took her from sight.

 

 

She was the love of the land,

fond of any such beauteous art;

that those of which held her hand

never caught at her heart.

 

 

From the depth of her demise, she found he,

the man which caught with such hands her love,

to which made her crazy, made her flee,

until her single soul did rest above.

 

 

But while here, she played her roles,

tossing and turning at night in her bed,

for a woman she appeared, but man in the soul,

as what it was in the depths of her head.

 

 

And with the loss of him so dear,

she feared all would fall without disguise

but her drinking habits had made it clear

that it was grief that lead to her demise.