((It's cliché ! Don't hate me!))
Sade's Folly
Sade, daring cupid of this tale,
Lay under a tree and its veil
Of rouge flower and gold leaf.
Who came to sit by his side?
Who else but his lovely bride,
Wishing the talk to be brief.
“I love another,” she said,
As Sade tried hard not to shed
A drop of unwonted tears.
“Tell me who! I need a name!”
He spoke, his voice full of pain;
Unashamed, he bared his fears.
“I cannot tell,” which is a lie,
“I would go to hell, when I die.”
The liar blushed like a rose.
The livid Sade took out his knife,
And stabbed his cheating, loving wife,
The liar laid in repose.
And, oh, how cupid cried,
“Why is it that she died?”
It’s the fault of a jealous groom.
He lay upon his lover’s breast,
And pulled the knife out of her chest,
Thinking that they could share a tomb.
