A Little Ditty Poem by Mark R Slaughter

O! love to me is but a season –
Seldom does it overstay,
And tho' I pain to seek a reason,
Like the dream, it fades away

To leave me once again in awe
Of how the heart can render raw
In loss of love; but then to soar

Atop anew! – and hail adieu!
To her who fled from chance I gave
To see us wed: Then on,
To court another fairer face –
And lose again in end of chase!

I curse the seasons evermore –
They tease me thro' their metaphor:
Starting fresh, their vigour young,
Yet oversoon, the ditty sung.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011












































































































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