My True Love

My lady, much prosperous and very neat,
Sits alone in the drawing room suite.
A beauty, this is true, no man could deny,
From her curled hair to her rounded thigh.
Sipping her tea with those candy-red lips,
The silk draped upon her hugs her hips.
Behind her sits an easel, dressed in finer silk,
But what lies below that belongs to this ilk?
Oh alas, you ask! Enough of this sweet lass,
Onto the man; cherished man, adorned in brass.
A fine portrait with paints as dark as my heart
When I lost him, left only with this art.
An epaulette rests on his broad shoulder,
Showing his rank, if only he had been older.
General at war, but always wished for more;
A heart of fire, passion-filled at his core.
Golden badges symbolize his dedication
Yet not the place where he lies in this nation.
You must wonder where this beauty rests now,
But can you not see from my saddened brow?
He is dead! Nothing more and nothing less!
Left to live inside my heart, may God bless.
Perished as just a boy, held close to my chest,
My heart will always beat for him, this I stressed.
My young lover kept sheltered from the world,
But not enough; death came as the wind whirled.
Look away from him! Do not sully his purity,
His eyes will forever hold this look of immaturity.
My love will last forever, you are nothing to me;
He is my unchanging lover, whose love will never flee.