THE PRICE OF LOVE

It came to him upon an emerald day,

He offered love
And reaped the winds of hate;
How could the God of Love
Have naught to say,
How turn away
From such bestiality?
Upon that bleak and ugly fence
Beneath an unresponsive sky,
Those whom he only offered love
Made him die.
He would have given them his heart,
They ripped his soul,
And there where love
May have been made to start
He died,
And they were much less whole.

George W. Martin