Two's tale

When did it start, from where did it ensue,

of all the things between me and you.

Like a motleyed butterfly with richness and hue,

flower to flower without a clue.

Or a two tailed black sparrow with abundant skills,

and a blue eyed white pigeon innocently killed.

The groove was thick and thoughts profuse,

that he needs her soul to end this recluse.

Things of heart are difficult to contain,

love is in expression without restrain.

Like a pious daughter of a majestic sire,

or Mira poisoned by the societal ire,

curse of separation they both endured,

glory to them, their faith is now swored.

Otherwise noble, but in his mad unrest,

contemplating poems with fervor and zest,

he prays to the one at the top of the crest,

before whom all bow and request,

just like with April you give heat and sweat,

add more passion to my nascent quest.

--

By

the pigeon, skin not exactly white, eyes not exactly blue.