She said, “Come meet me in the fields,
And I will give my love to you.”
He went and waited, with a heart,
But now, it’s understood —

That love is cruel when it’s not kind,
And power’s shown by giving pain,
And wheatgrass blows in empty fields
Where men give up on love
For good

We drink, at times, the sweetened,
Other times, the bitter cup:
And truth is more than anything
Than our minds can dream up.

She was the truth in makeup, she
Was lies out in the grass —
A hundred kind of choices,
Each of them too good to pass —

She wrapped herself in denouement,
Then spread that on the winds,
An innocent on holiday,
Too practiced in her sins —

I was a tool. I was a fool.
A tool among the fools:
To play a game where only she
Knew any of the rules.

How many times, how many ways,
I knew the feeling hollow
Of what it is to trust someone
Who goes where you can’t follow.

She left one day without a word,
My heart and head felt battered,
To feel her wrapped around me seemed
The only thing that mattered —

But life can be a funny thing.
Our hearts are self-repairing,
Especially when they’re around
Someone whose gifts are caring.

The “truth in makeup” still exists.
She’s on my Facebook feed;
We both are older now,
We’ve lost some looks, we’ve lost some speed —

But all of us face grief, and pain.
And in the final summing,
There’s naught we should as kindly treat
As our mistakes

In loving