A wretched duchess has lain alone,
languishing on a perfect bed.
Her heart laid to waste, withered and prone;
words of love on her lips have gone unsaid.
A blighted jester wears a tattered grin.
He has thrown himself before swine.
Though his scars betray where he has been,
in his eyes are suspended the pangs of time.
In a desperation born of love, she extends her arms,
the cloistered space inside her will be fulfilled.
Her lips on his brow soothe his fears and harms.
In their slow embrace, a healing balm has been instilled.
Lost, longing souls searched alone in pain,
until at last, they reach out to love again.