A pretty bloke, idling under an oak
Not a boy, but a man was he,
When saw he a sight pass by
Wanted to just go once more see.
A tender tress, a dazzling dress
A voice as clear as streams,
‘Enchanted’ then he, realized that she
Was the girl of his dreams.
The girl got glad, she shied bad,
The praises she got, so rich,
“My Angel!” the boy crow, little did he know,
That she was a witch.
The boy would cheer, “To win you deer,
What shall I do for a start?”
The girl gave the boy, a smile coy,
“Bring me your mother’s heart.”
Mad and drugged, home he rushed,
Soundly was his mother slept,
He stabbed her heart, and tore it apart
Back to his lover he leapt.
Quickly treading, his reckless heading
Was halted midway when he,
Was hit by a cart, he dropped the heart
Ending up with a bruised knee.
After all that past, he sat there aghast
The blood kept dripping away,
Just then he could hear, a voice familiar,
“O son! Are you okay?”
“Why do you hurry; my dear, don’t worry,
The pain would very soon part.”
The pretty bloke, he knew what spoke,
It was his mother’s heart.