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Of Love and War

She rode for war, but he rode for love
that led him to this grave, stained with his red. 
Words left unspoken, never to be free of.

Her enchanting war cries encouraged him out of 
that fear battle brings at the prospect of bloodshed
She rode for war, but he rode for love

To him, she’s starlight, sacrosanct and void of
that mortal manner that he couldn’t shed
Words left unspoken, never to be free of

Arrows fly and sometimes strike from above, 
true as that love of which he had never said
She rode for war, but he rode for love

Perhaps lovers in another life, the archetype of truelove
But confessions can’t be made once you’re gone and dead
Words left unspoken, never to be free of

Every morning she’s visited by the same mourning dove
To his grave she proclaims her love, too late, severed the thread
She rode for war, but he rode for love
Words left unspoken, never to be free of
 
--Sarah E., Adult