hers was a petal cannot be carried by the arms of chivalry
but by the carelessness of the wind
hers was a rock cannot be mended by steels of pride
but by the warmth of ember fires

not with a hand that cannot take hold
but touch as light as the morning mist

his was a cuirass promised gold
now rusted alloy shed by half true lies
forlorn from the battles of better men

his was debonair white charming cape
rustled with dirt and peril
their vows forgotten
All for pride was sold