The Broil

I once concocted a broil,
A solution organic.
To cure the pain that ceased my breath,
And trapped my heart In a cage.

My cauldron is made of ash from graves,
Of poets who wrote ballads
And my fire was from the pages,
On which they were written.

I took her tears and boiled them up,
Almost to the point of vaporization.
I took her blood from her wounds,
And from her heart born shattered.

I added willow leaves,
And rose thorns.
Brewed till the tears evaporated,
And then came to the final part.

I took Romeos dagger,
And removed my heart.
And added into the Broil.
And then offered the dieing lass.

Who successfully drank it and saved her life.


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