( a section of quatrains excerpted from a larger narrative poem)

The sun which once warmed the morning dew,
Gave my breezes the scent of thyme,
Now it barely climbs above the yew
Spreading over that grave on the chine.

And what if I danced now before you,
As the waves along the shore?
Would you know that he did adore you,
Feel the warmth of his love like before?

Oh Annie! Soon the leaves will be falling,
To be carried away by the stream,
It was you that heard his heart calling,
Never think that it was just a dream!

But town said that he loved your daughter,
And like a fool he was ground in between,
The cold pestle and the mortar
Of a King and his would-be Queen.

So cunning she spread that cruel story!
But that love was no more than a lie,
He never courted such worldly glory,
Yet they dragged him away still to die.

Yes Annie, all the leaves are now falling,
Drawn away by that chattering stream,
Soon you’ll know that his heart is still calling,
Do not think that it is just a dream!

May that girl hear my howl in the willows!
Flinch scorched by his gaze from the fire,
Sense his wrath in the dent of her pillow,
Hear his curse on the strings of her lyre.

Now Annie those leaves have all vanished,
And none float along in the stream,
Let the pain in your heart be banished,
For the truth was not as it seemed.