Knaves or Angels
Love's a ruffian seeking its pleasure
its contrast of joys to devilish pain
giving false hope while snaring its measure
unbridled it leaves and returns untamed.
A knave is love who plays a dirty deal
with less than a glance or touch it blindfolds
long enough to find a heart to steal
then scampers gone unseen as winter's cold.
Yet loves an angel, not a brute at all
its wings the sweet trapeze that lovers fly
till brought back down to earth without a fall.
Knaves and angels, playing their parts too well
as to which am I - I truly can't tell.
Trapeze -- Andrew McMorrine