• For slings and arrows
    I have drawn and slung.
    In haste have struck their mark,
    the one.
    And caused these tears
    oh love hath none.
    Regret burns hot,
    what is,
    what's done.

    There is no way to soften one's bow,
    Return the arrow to cease the blow.
    Nor curve the path towards where its goes,
    Oh scarlet heart, how death doth flow.