Part 1.

“I’ll love you my sweet”
he swore by the moon
the sun never kissed
the promise too soon.

I’ll love you forever
I swear on my life,
the grave of my mother
and pretty stone strife.

I’ll love you by stars
everyone in the sky
and shooting ones too
the galaxy in flight.

I’ll love you by ghosts
the poltergeist swears
across my heart,
against my own fears.

A needle in my eye
swore on a haystack,
the final pin
until you can relax.

I’ll love you he swore,
from the hair on my chin
from every thought
I think from within.

I’ll love you my heart
I owe you my smile,
my happiness, my courage,
my new loving style.

I’ll love you forever
sworn my the love
of one struck puppy
caring too much.

I’ll love you until
the end of the world.
The universe here
will finally implode.

I’ll love you until
the very last day
and then some more
after we part ways.

Heaven and hell;
will neither break our hearts
for we will stay together
not even death do us part.

I’ll love you until
you stop caring for me,
but even then
I’ll admire faithfully.

I’ll love you until
the fat lady sings,
until the mockingbird croaks
and rust finds the ring.

I’ll love you until
the man in the moon
comes down from his rock
and the sun he will swoon.

I’ll love you until
the sun doesn’t rise,
till the soul shall be shattered
and the last red rose dies.

Part 2.

But little does he know
what’s happened now,
the future has changed
swearing are about.

The moon has grown tired,
my mother’s grave turned
the stars no longer shine
nor shoot for the moon.

The ghosts have all laid
their heads to rest
and pins have pierced
the eyes at their best.

The haystack has grown,
needles all lost
the hair: shaven
the thoughts: fought.

Smiles have faded,
styles have changed places
puppies now only
wear frowns on their faces.

The universe imploded
the very last day
and we indeed went
our separate ways.

The fat lady sings
everyday and every night
the mockingbirds dead
and the ring: rusted alright.

The man in the moon
now lies down with us
and swoons at the sun,
causing a fuss.

Now tell me my love
on what do you swear?
On which red rose
can you make this fair?

We pray all the same
for the sun doesn’t rise,
and even at last,
that red rose has died.