The Gall of Youth

He is walking quickly up the hill,
puffing like an old steam train.
She is climbing up those narrow winding steps.
At night, he is playing the melody and listening for it's echo.
In the basement, locked doors speak to her,
in whispers belonging to another time.
His weapon poised and poison,
dipped in the black well.

What did you speak of in your sleep?
Ripped paper sacks - empty.
Their champagne bottles smashed on the pavement.
How we paid for a child's mistake.