A Chapter Yet Filled

Who here desire that love be all one needs?
Surely, I say not for me.
Though love proves a clever disguise,
Love does not make one wise.
It preys upon the weak
The mere beauty only,
For purity it speaks.

And I a blossom yet to bloom,
This cold entraps and seals my wounds.
I dare not think you understand,
Whom stand united, hand in hand?
One by one, or two by two,
These elements can get to you…

© Delia Ross. 2010

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