The call is made, to the one he loves

The smallest fate, lays with the flying doves

His hopefull heart, to which she stays

His greatfull trust, to her mocking ways

And with each moment come ticking by

watchfull is his gazing eye

She left the flowers, layn to trust

She scorns his care, with joking lust

A waking dawn, sun may rise

Apparent to all, the blood red skies

And in coming presense they watch her weep

fallen to trickery by her own foul keep

When she sees his plan for all

she wishes she had answered that call.