The Irony of Love
Lost in irony, we find our way,
The wise woman knew love’s sweet disarray.
The farmer’s bride, with her dreams so wide,
Domestics, a red-haired man’s longing wife,
They danced with dreams that shaped their shared life.
Beside the hearth, they’d talk of needs and…desire,
The idol of their hearts, a burning fire.
Needs and desires, on love’s fickle tide.
Dialogue whispered in shadows of night,
“Talk to me tenderly, my love,” they’d recite.
But the dream teller warned of traps that spring,
Love can be both a joy and a sting.
“Talk to me tenderly,” they each implore,
Caught in a web, the drama of life,
Domestics and longing, the red-haired man’s wife,
A wise woman’s heart, in love’s sweet snare,
In domestics and dreams, did she dare?
For love’s truth is deeper than ever before.
The red-haired man’s wife, a captive soul,
Sought solace in love, a hidden goal.
Needs unspoken, a love held tight,
In whispered Dialogue, ‘neath pale moonlight.
An idol, they worship, in a love’s disguise,
“Talk to me tenderly,” her plea so deep,
In the secret chambers, their love did creep.
The dream teller’s words, a prophetic verse,
In the labyrinth of lust, they’d immerse.
But it’s the dialogue that opens the eyes,
Men are the devil, they say with a sigh,
traps they lay, under spring’s sunny sky.
In spring night’s embrace, in the park, they meet,
The free woman and man, their hearts to greet,
The dream-teller weaves tales of delight,
Domestics and desires, a tangled mess,
The red-haired man’s wife, her heart’s distress.
Needs unspoken, in whispered sighs,
Dialogue of love, ‘neath starlit skies.
Of struggles, through day and night,
“Talk to me tenderly, my dearest heart,
For in your embrace, I’ll never depart.”
The dream-teller foretold a treacherous play,
In the game of love, they’d both betray.
The victor, the carver of fate’s decree,
But in the park, ‘neath spring’s sweet grace,
She found irony in love’s embrace.
Once a wise woman, so clever and sly,
In the irony of love, she’d tell you why.
Ecclesiastes whispers, “A time to be free.”
Domestics and dreams, a wild ride,
The red-haired man’s wife was by his side.
Their needs unspoken, but hearts so loud,
In the dialogue of Love, they were lost in the crowd.
A woman, caught in the midst of it all,
“Talk to me tenderly,” they’d plea,
As they danced in the moonlight, wild and free.
The dream teller’s warnings, a comical jest,
In the game of love, they’d give it their best.
Searching for answers, as her tears fall,
In the park, on that spring night so bright,
She thought she found triumph, love’s sheer delight.
In the park, on a summer night, a new love starts,
Ironic, when the blond-haired man’s lover did depart.
“Talk to me tenderly,” his plea so deep,
In the park, on a summer’s night’s embrace,
a butcher’s wife found her special place.
Hark, the wise woman’s counsel keen,
In love’s irony, a tale is seen.
In the secret chambers, lust is a creep.
In the irony of love, lost in irony, she finds her way,
Where contradictions dance, in the light of day.