OCHIRD
There once lived a lonely poet
Who could survive only with his poetic kit
Which consisted of nothing but paper sheets
And a quill put in his pocket.
His life style was quiet and neat
He spent very little time running in the streets
Instead, in his chamber, he would sit
Everyday, he wrote pass the human limit.
He never seemed to be rushed off his feet
Though in his thoughts, he usually sank into mist
So deeply he would hardly take any notice
Thus he had petty accidents quite a bit.
To him poetry was all the basics needs
Apart from her, he found everything decrepit.
But then one day, he finally did meet
A person so beautiful his heart skipped a beat.
In his soul, a burning flame was lit
By that person, a woman by the name of Orchid.
He knew that Eros did not miss
And he dreamt about wedded bliss
Yet he later learnt that it was no mean feat
For she would soon marry a wealthy marquis
While he was only a social misfit.
In his mind, an eerie thought did flit
He left his chamber in a night so moonlit
He was on his way to pay her house a visit
Where he knew the people would not greet
(As him they would be very eager to hit)
What he must do was risky, his mind agreed
But his heart yearnt for her, his sweet.
So he entered the house, tried not to breath
He climbed up to her room, thanks God the balcony was florid
Where he saw her, his beloved
Whom compared to, the whole world was beneath
She might find his actions sordid
But he believed it was sole for her benefit
He took her away, wasted no minute
To a place hidden in the forest.
He hoped that in time, their love would be discrete
She would then give unto the power of Cupid
Though he assured her no maltreat
Everytime she spoke to him, her tone was acid
In front of her, he tried to do himself justice
She still showed him only feelings of opposite
While he wished they were more closely knit
Everyday, for her love he had plead.
Till one night, it was rape that he wished to commit
Which, of course, she strongly forbid
Especially when he was not her favourite
At that moment, his love turned into malice
It was only her rejection he wished to discourage
She replied that she would rather perish
Yet he was too libidous for his thoughts to be limpid
So he approached her with a mallet
Then down on the floor fell his withered Orchid
As she looked from under her half-closed lids
She cursed: ”To you love is forever forfeit.”
He then buried her body in a deep pit
It was her who made his heart agonisingly bleed
Her death must remain a secret, albeit
It caused him a severe poetic discredit
And from then on, he was always seen with a silver locket
Carrying the image of the woman he should forever cherish
As well as a crime he would go to Hell with
For he was a man of great discreet.