The BoxA box of glassshaped as a heart reminds him of a lass which he could not part sitting on the stool, staring at it that fellow and like a fool he shot it with an arrow It fell with a shatter strewn about the floor he feels what's the matter? his heart had tore He turned away and to never come back he shouldn't stay compassion he lacks Stepping out the door his heart is crushed he won't look for more for he feels a bit rushed He looks back for one final glance at the pieces of the box he is there with a sorrowful stance then out the archway he walks |
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| copyright (c) Amanda Ruth 1995 | |