Her Feathered Touch

Her feathered touch that sent me spiraling
comes now to send the peace astray
from the happy grave of struggling.

Inward from the drunken marveling
does take the pleasures wanting way,
her feathered touch that sent me spiraling.

Her face that sends men's souls to traveling,
remembering the hatred love must weigh
from the happy grave of struggling,

to her poisoned tender cuddling,
tempts the day soft tremblings lay
her feathered touch that sent me spiraling.

Playing to the torments troubling
she rends the lovelorn past away
from the happy grave of struggling

to leave me stupid as a jester juggling,
desiring still that death may sway
her feathered touch that sent me spiraling
from the happy grave of struggling.