His words rung sweet into the night.
Under pines and oak he lied;
And still, through wind song’s warning, she
Saw nothing but the light.
Perhaps a lonely heart, with pride,
Saw hope in a spot of blue;
And, in those eyes, she fell inside,
Made bold his love was true.
So was it vain to hope that this
Would grow to better than;
That he would love, in kindness, love,
As she, in love, loved him?
Her truth, it proved to be a lie,
The good she felt made trick;
And the joker’s trope a fool made I,
In sorrow, an evil kick.
His face hid well into the night.
Her light, his shroud, in darkness kept,
His lies held sway and thrived in spite,
While she, who loved the joker, wept.