À minha amorinha

Sweet, delicious bramble fruit;
So wild, untameable and free,
Made from darkest red bubbles.
You give my heart troubles.
Alas you are no longer for me.

Your taste like treasure and loot;
Rich, succulent, quenching juice
Made from the nectar you bear,
A flavour so wonderfully rare.
Woe now i must pull you loose.

Staunch, resilient blackberry root;
Diving deep in the soil,
Spikes guarding above and under.
Now I work to tear you asunder,
A labour with which i toil.

After, the earth burnt as soot;
Tears turning all to mud,
A scene horrifyingly full of gore.
I am lost, broke, beaten and sore,
Hands raw with blood.

 

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