Melancholy Melodies
My musical piano made the meager
Notes tell tales of a miserable
Man whose heart had been mashed
To a million pieces.
The man always played a mellow
Violin during the
Misty Monday mornings just resting
And mourning over the sorrow-filled
Melodies conjuring memories of his
Mistress of midnight.
Soft as moss, deadly as a
Mandrake; she’ll squeeze the man
Out of you like a
True minx.
“Malady murdered my love,” the
Man would moan, remembering
The misfortune that tortured his
Misled mind.
