Burnt Offerings Poem by D A Phinney

Loves and hearts are offered up
In poetry as pure.
Had I but such to give away
You'd certainly demure,
For love's a knavish thing at times,
And hearts but fluff and glass
Blown fickle by an easy wind
Or shattered by their past.
Love never polished sabre's edge
Nor charged blood-dappled hill,
Yet keener is its subtle slice,
Withdrawing which may kill.
And hearts are candy-quick consumed,
Burn sweetly, but are followed
By sour regret and bitterness
The instant they are swallowed.
No love shall prove nor heart shall swear
By earnest took, or whim.
To sacrifice to someone is
To die in her or him.
So no more might be said of this,
So no more might be done,
So let us sleep to gather us
Together in the sun.