Fools rush in, that I always knew, but
Too much in love was I to see,
That what I really meant to her,
Was not what she meant to me.
That the words she wrote within my chest,
That joyful, soaring palimpsest,
Was but a forgery, a counterfeit;
A worthless, base, and cruel deceit.
And I should have recalled, (next time perhaps),
Those old time-worn adages,
Look in the horse's mouth, or ere you leap,
For oases are often just mirages.
And hindsight is such a mocking tool,
For those times when you've been a fool.
