One day while I wrestled with the words of a poem
A dog died and I the would-be poet
Surrendered to the Goddess’s seduction
Sounding a death knell for that devoted one.
Could the bewildered eyes of that betrayed beast
Comprehend such duplicity such deceit?
What Belle Dame Sans Merci would ever compel
A poet to place his grace with deathless words:
Though she may walk in beauty like the night–
still
I shudder at such a chill and pitiless Belle!