Holding close lest falling into smithereens.
Disrobing the beauty in your eyes I’ve seen.
The thirst was gone when I descried.
There was the castle of the isolated paradise,
Standing by the union of mortal and divine,
With chthonic monsters that the walls define.
But the sepulcher that lies
Behind the glooming marguerites,
Was what I least expected to see.
“My liege”, I questioned him,
“What thing is that I see?
There! Behind those beautiful marguerites?”
“That, my Princess,” he said with glee,
“is a tomb. My parents lay there in reverie.”
Shocked, I was, to see him in such state.
Little had I expected him to be serene.
I realize that he is stone-cold, my liege.
