Chance Poem by Dean Meredith

A few innocent words
Nothing is said
Time passes, she waits
One day they quarrel
It comes up, his distrust
Then the embrace, her mood
Their cruel passion ignites
Forgiveness, with doubt
He yearns for how it was
But both are changed
What wicked spell is this?
Who sent that wretch to you?
Or was there a secret invitation?
Madness, pure and sublime
Perspectives alter like mist
The wet chill engulfs
Their once happy house of fire
She teases and traps
He reacts, poor fool
To every leaking word
The wood burns slowly
A crackle is heard
And sparks fly freely
From flames quite absurd
His warmth flows through her
She takes him like a bird