Rotund

In the darkness of night, As patrons of their plight, They march straight into the light. Love is the lie we tell ourselves so we do not go extinct. Foraging in fields of corn rows, Lost in their riotous throes, They march on through felonious foes. Love is the food that makes our souls succinct. Society prayed they were shunned, Two girls - their love rotund, Weighed down by shackled thoughts that spun; Found in due time and gunned. Love is the truth that frees your mind's precinct.