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.