Love Is A Fickle Lady
Golden threads and silver needles
cannot mend this heart of mine
that has been broken
just one too many times.
Love is fickle lady
that takes us on a merry dance,
who when she’s finished with us
will disappear with a second glance.
We have no way of knowing
when or where she’ll come along.
We only know it
after she has gone.
Misery and heartaches
always adorns her path.
It is always there for everyone to see.
As love is a fickle lady.
8 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Added by Poetry Lover
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