Liebostod

by Anthony Ward

I’m not sure whether her baleful eyes
Contain hurt or sorrow.
Though they encourage my ailing sight
To bestow such beauty I behold.

Her chastity bears no charity towards me,
Causing me to drift in the doldrums
Like an Anacreon Dutchman,
Searching for the bottle that would land me
Upon those relentless shores.

Yet she weeps like Alvina,
Sweeping my soul off course
Between Scylla and Charybdis,
Drawn by her ungainly looks.

I long to widen her face
Until it becomes rounded,
Clear her inclement eyes
Until they shine through the darkness,
Before I end up smashed 
Against the rocks-
A broken man.