O calloused heart, how for art thou still beating,
Glances cast at thee thou hath repelled.
Taking flight at thy masters pleading,
How couldst thee in good conscience foretell.
Thou art more beautiful than the rose,
Tho thy thorns art no less deadly.
No more couldst I offer to thee my betrothed,
Than to be forthright of mind and steady.
Nay–this was not enough,
Thy blood and soul hast proved tainted.
Coarse is thine heart when passions in the rough,
Dante’s tragedy to my core hath been painted.
Were thou only more gentle of spirit, more tender and kind,
In my true love thou wouldst bath and no truer love wouldst thou find.
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Dom DiFrancesco 
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