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It came in a plain brown wrapper

Ignored along its flight.

It told of a crime of passion

And maybe it was right.



Their love had never been easy

And, despite their divorce,

She had held onto 'love feelings';

He had held onto force.



So she had gone for a night ride,

Cajoled by his sweet tone,

A promise of a good dinner,

Quality time alone.



After parking on a high crest

Looking out at the moon

They had talked, had made love and fought.

The end had come too soon.



He had taken his hunting knife

To her -who bore his name -

Slashed and stabbed her twenty-four times,

Kicked her corpse, as wild game.



Bad love. Bad love. That says it all.

Bad love. Bad love. It's stopped -

At least for her, but what about

Their daughters, should he so opt?