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Watery Words

Disregard the analytic deviations from this simple law: in the end, it’s better to have never loved than loved and lost it all.  Heed my words, lovers all.  Since the day I left, I have often heard, from her broken nest, the widow and her watery words wash away my whole life: a thousand sons, one hundred wives.  Oh, I have loved eleven hundred times.  Wearing turpentine feathers for a veil, she will wear you down with the telling of her tale: once a bride, gay and fair, with jet black eyes and jet black hair, changed by loss greater than she could bear.  Now her tears are flowing and her hair keeps growing, falling from her pillow like a weeping willow in the rain and thunder, branches torn asunder, lefty without her lover, meant for no one other.  She says: disregard the analytic deviations from this simple law: in the end, it’s better to have never loved than loved and lost it all.  Heed my words or else you will fall headlong to the whim of the waves.