12/3/12 16:15pm

The painted lady waiting in the wings
Now parts her lips to sing her lover's name;
She enters, arms spread outwards as she sings
Like some fantastic orchid made of flame.

She scatters fragrant petals in the hall
And yet more petals round the master bed
Her sweet song echoes like a linnet's call
Her swirling silks are edged with golden thread.

Then comes a telegram from overseas
To say her love will not return again
The lady falls, still singing, to her knees;
Her heartbeat speeds, like wings beating in vain.

Such is the way of love made through a lie;
Like chloroform, to **** a butterfly.