Alas, it had to end <br />For you see, it was my friend <br />That stole into my garden near <br />And took down the fruit, so dear. <br /> <br />A friend, a friend no more <br />That harvested from my daily store <br />And kept that which he felt to be his <br />Giving nothing in return, nay even a kiss. <br /> <br />So friend or foe, begone I say <br />If you have nothing to give, in any way <br />But see my art (and that of my wife so dear) <br />As nothing but etchings on plate, unclear. <br /> <br />For they offer a look into my soul <br />Which alas, in dirt grows cold <br />Still reveals the workings of the heart <br />In bringing forth, a masterpiece of art. <br /> <br />s<br /><br />Sidi J. Mahtrow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/william-blake-s-poison-tree/
