Turrets and towers and a fortified keep
all protected by barbicans of stone
encircle a heart that solitary beats
besieged by being alone.

The curtain wall rises terribly high
behind a dark, wide, and deep moat.
Behind both hides a soul with a sigh
draped in a man-at-arms’ coat.

The banners are torn and raggedly hang
far above the desolate ward,
while the heart hopes for a cannonade’s bang
to free itself with a stroke of a sword.

And there approaches on the sunlit plain
a fellow heart with siege engines in train.