What is there left to do,
When the one you love breaks your fragile little heart?
Well, my darling, I will tell you.
Go and make yourself a stew!
Take a gallon of his blood,
And a cup full of his brains,
Throw in his bones, one by one,
Throw in all the hatred that remains.
Gouge his eyeballs and make puree,
Out of all the wonders he could not see.
And though his heart is rotten and full of boils,
Throw it in!
Forget his mortal coils.
And when it is that you are through,
Do not eat this awful stew!
Leave it out for the buzzards and the ravens,
Yes they'll know what to do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you have expressed your passions very well, thanks for sharing.